Mirror, Mirror on the Wall
by DaedricIdiot
Summary: Stories about people getting sucked into their favorite video-games sound nice, like the protagonist instantly mastering combat, hooking up with the hottest character and having perfect hair- that was totally *not*what happened to me. Things went to shit when no one spoke my language and this magical ring I found in the trash allowed me to cast spells even when I didn't want to.
1. Chapter 1

**Hello readers! Its a pleasure to have you here with me for this humble fanfic! Before we begin I have to make some things clear for your convenience, of course.**

 **First, the main character of this fanfic speaks little next to no English, but her thoughts as well as her narration will be in English for your convenience**

 **Second, I decided to write this because I felt like my Spanish, Russian and English were all going to shit and I had to find some way to practice them all, so this was the way I found. Lets not forget to mention that neither one of those languges are my mother tongue so I'm bound to make some mistakes. I just thought this would be a fun thing to do.**

 **Without further ado, let's begin!**

* * *

 **CHAPTER I**

The floor beneath their feet shook violently.

At each passing moment the platform in which they were seemed further away from the rest of the Inner Circle. Only a small party of four remained to directly fight. A warrior, a rogue an elven and a human mage.

The platform floated in what seemed like endless oblivion, and the air was thick, which made it difficult to catch breath. The floor was slippery, making it difficult to keep balance.

The Elder One directed his attacks towards Cole and the Iron Bull, who directly attacked him from up close.

The human mage however, knew that the final battle with Corypheus would be messy, but she was not expecting it to be so tough. Hell, she wasn't expecting to be a part of anyting, let alone _the freaking Inquisition_ for fuck's sake.

For the entire time she was confident the Inquisition would be victorious- after all she knew everything that would happen- but she wasn't so sure at the moment. What would happen if they failed? Would everything go to shit like the Origin's expansion 'The Darkspawn Chronicles'?

Her spells were shit against the tall deformed monster thing- well, not that her spells were any good against anything other than harming herself by accident. Why did the Inquisitor ask her to join? Sure she was Lavellan's apprentice, but wouldn't it be best for her to stay back? Or did Ellana _believe_ in her?

Before the battle, she had hoped to be there, fighting alongside her allies, but she never actually told anyone what she wanted. Was it Cole who knew what she wanted and told Lavellan? Of course he would have done that. He was too precious for this world, and she was lucky to have him beside her.

The flashes of colors of Ellana's ice spells, the clinking of the Iron Bull's sword and Cole's- her dear Cole...she knew Corypheus would try to bind him to his will, but the (now more human) young man she loved was no demon to be binded- twin daggers were so loud she could not even listen to her own staff pounding in the floating rock floor.

She casted a lightning chain spell a few seconds before the Elder One knocked Cole down.

The mage blinked.

She lost focus on what she was doing for a moment, stopping mid-spell- something Lavellan told her explicitly _not to_. It always surprised her how fast a party member could faint- and also how quickly they could be revived with the right spells or granades. Being actually there fighting, sweating and bleeding was different from simply pressing buttons behind a screen.

She knew however that as much as she wanted to just run and revive Cole, she couldn't abandon the rest of the party just to cast a spell to ressurect him, so, as painful as it was, she ignored her fainted lover.

"Bull's down!" Her moment of distraction cost another faiting. The Qunari mercenary fell down with a loud noise.

The young human mage tightened the grip into her staff with one hand and with the free one tucked her long black hair away from her face.

 _I can do this_ , she thought, _we can do this- together._

Despite the layer of cheese regarding that last thought, she concentrated in the task at hand, focusing energy on her staff.

The mage kept attacking Corypheus with simple spells (which were the ones she could do) but he ignored her completely. Instead his attacks only targeted Inquisitor Lavellan.

With the warrior and rogue down, two mages with ranged attacks could hardly stand alone for much long wilst being attacked directly. It was just a matter of time now.

The dark haired mage tried, but she could not taunt the Elder One to leave the Inquisitor alone. For the first time, she felt like it was the end.

The elven mage was going to faint in a blink of an eye.

With a couple more blows directed to her, the elf did faint.

"¡Joder! **[Fuck!]** " The only standing mage cursed. A strong feeling of desperation filled the young human mage, making her static. She could not focus any longer. Her mana was insuficient for anything, and she could not focus energy into her staff. _Fuck this!_ She was by herself facing the (second) evilest thing in this land!

Corypheus glared at the Inquisitor on the floor for a moment and chuckled. How dared he!

The Elder One was still far from the mage, but she could see his deformed body well enough to distinguish the red crystals from the rest of moldy flesh.

"¡Asqueroso!" **[Disgusting!]** She muttered under her breath. She had to make her way to the Iron Bull somehow, who fainted the closest to her. She just had to buy some time... she could run fast and...she had practiced healing spells- she was somewhat decent at those.

"Aren't you petty?" Corypheus finally locked his eyes with the black haired girl's. She could see he made his way to her...preparing for an attack... "You will die screaming!"

 ***Vynil record scratch***

 ***Frame freezes***

 ***Voice-over***

Can you imagine the frigtened (but still fabulous) mage girl facing Corypheus in that scene? Because I can't.

Jokes, that actually happened and that mage is actually me: Maria, the star of this piece of work I call 'story'.

But don't worry, I am not the heroic type to try to finish the bad guy alone. I had a secret weapon which let me out of that awful situation (¡BEES!), but I let Inquisitor Lavellan have the honor to kill Corypheus (the timeline could have been messed up otherwise). After all it was not me who had been cursed with a neon green mark. And let's face it: neon green doesn't look good in anyone.

You're probably wondering how I got myself into that messy, messy affair of fighting a monster-thing that should have been dead for thousands of years. Why on Earth do I speak Spanish? Why did I fall in love with Cole, out of all people? And most importantly: Why the fuck am _I_ in Thedas?

Those are all excellent questions.

But I'm afraid the answers to those are far more complicated and _A LOT_ more stupid than I wish they were.

Did all of this happen because I possess the second worse luck in all of Thedas (the first place is obviously Ellana Lavellan's)? Or was it because I couldn't keep my little fingers out of rich people's trash cans?

Probably both.

Scratch that. Definitely both. Plus the fact that some higher deity has a questionable sense of humor.

Well, before I begin narrating all the unusual and rather stupid events of my life, I must make some things clear: Yes, my last name is Russian but I was born and lived in Spain all my life. My father is the only Russian in this story, if you care to know (which you probably don't), but I'll get to that later.

I'm rather confusing, aren't I? I'm sorry.

Despite all this inicial confusion about me, let me tell you that I speak little English (or Common Tongue or Weird French as I like to call it) but for this narration English will be used (because **¡MAGIC!** And because this is _my_ narration of _my_ story so fuck it. I can narrate this in Ancient Arabic if I want) whenever only one language is being spoken, for the reader's convenience, of course. Whenever there are more than one language, translations will be provided, which is part of the fun.

And yes, the fact that a huge language barrier existed (and frankly, it still does exist) between me and everyone else was convenient because I knew everything that was going to happen. I mean, who has never played Dragon Age: Inquisition at least once?... Now that I'm thinking, not being able to talk prevented me to spoil the fact that the Inquisition had _not only one_ fake bitch but _actually two_ , and honestly it was best for Lavellan to figure _that_ and many more things out on her own (not to mention that I _may or may not_ had had part in keeping her away from the Dread Egg).

Without further ado, let's begin!

It all started with a ball.

...and everything pretty much went downhill from there. I can never have nice things as you will notice shortly.

Oh! And let's not forget this weird thing with a magical ring that I found in the trash. That's kind of important, I guess.

No, really.

As much as it sounds ridiculously stupid (I told you) the little One Ring to Rule Them All that gave me the ability to cast spells and for some reason also unlocked eluvians was found in the trash.

Isn't this a promising start for my humble tale? At least Cole tells me so. He seems to like when I tell him about home, particularly when I tell him about the huge metal flying machines- also known as airplanes. Varric also said at some point that he couldn't have come up with such a far-fetched tale such as mine himself, and that is definitely something. That was what I understood, anyway.

Well, every story needs a begining and this is mine's.

It's not as flashy as blowing up the Temple of Sacred Ashes and gaining a magical mark to close demon gates and save the world and all that but I'll never be as flashy as Lavellan.

I was flashy in my own way, with a masquerade, a magical ring from the garbage and weird mirrors that took people to the Eluvian Central Station.

Shit, I am rambling, aren't I? Sorry, I tend to talk too much when the subject is me- that's something I picked up from Dorian, unfortunately.

Anyway, nobody's reading this thing just to hear me ramble, let's start with the real story.

But first, let me grab a cup of coffee.

What am I saying...I hate coffee.

Maria, stop being weird- there will be plenty of time for that later.

Alright, let me grab a swing of liquor then...

...My story starts in a small village in the middle of nowhere, somwhere in the northern Spanish Pirinees.

* * *

 **So, how'd you like it?**

 **I wrote this out of boredom and I hope it has been enjoyable so far :) I inspired myself in writing a language barrier fic because of the many awkward situations I passed in my life lol. Well, anyway, I love Cole to bits and I think he deserves more love so I guess this just came to be because of that.**

 **I would really like to hear what you guys thought of this first chapter!**  
 **¡Besitosss!**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER II-** Nobody Expects the Spanish Inquisition

"You are cordially invited by the illustrious Count Julián Saez to the reinalguration of his newly reformed family palace..." My older sister Olga happily pranced around my messy room, dodging the piles of clothing on the floor holding an elegant salmon colored paper envelope. Her green eyes danced as she read the invitation. "Suggested attire: formal clothing and a mask." She was visibly excited to go to that ball. Even someone 10km away could see that. After all, it was not everyday that our lives were graced with such unique events.

Of the many things I never really understood about my very unusual life (alongside why Lavellan allowed me to stay, why would a magical ring of doom be in the trash and many more), one of the few that pestered me for a long time was the fact that rich guy Julián wanted to have a masquerade. I guess I'll never know- and I don't think I want to. What fun it is to know everything about a story? _Your own_ story no less?

Wasn't there a saying that went 'give a man a mask and he will show his true self'? Iluminattis were involved in that I'm sure. Also, wasn't that the plot of 'Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask'?

"Because that doesn't sound suspiscious at all." I mentally rolled my eyes. I couldn't actually roll my eyes because I was too busy playing Dragon Age: Inquisition on my laptop and I could hardly ignore my rogue elven Inquisitor. I was laying down in my bed, and my long light purple dress wasn't helping me feel comfy at all. It made me hot and uncomfortable. I wasn't anywhere close to being concerned about ruining the dress though.

"Aren't you a killjoy?" My sister giggled. Her laugh was so sweet. I miss it.

I paused my game and turned my head to her direction. It never failed to surprise me how much Olga was beautiful. She had her long red hair- yes, red, not ginger, and it was completely natural, whether you believe me or not- was tied up in a elegant high ponytail and the sides of her hair were braided beautifully, basically she could be a red-haired Daenerys Targaryen with such complicated hairstyles. She didn't even need to _try_ to look pretty. She was basically a Disney Princess who woke up perfect every goddamn day.

She was now in the middle of the room next to the small pile of clothes I had wore to work today. But wait, you wonder how I had a job? What work could a freshman in college possibly find _in this economy_?

You see, my family had owned the only bar (or tavern? Or cantina? I honestly don't know) in the small village we lived in (frankly, it was the only bar in at least 30 km), for many generations, and when my grandparents died, my mom decided to take over, which basically meant the entire family would have to move from San Sebastián to Mt. Fucking Nowhere. That was about 10 years ago and frankly I never really recovered. I needed my share of daily pollution.

As many family buisiness go, Olga and I became cheap labor and we worked our asses off in our freetime (she was the waitress and I helped mother in the kitchen, because I definitely prefer the company of vegetables over the company of people [I have developed a strong bond with edible plants and things like that]) while father bartended, to make ends meet.

"You know I am a killjoy ever since I began talking." I reminded her. We had a very close sisterly bond, even if the only thing in common we had were our parents. Olga was always the extrovert and the pretty one, while I prefered to stay at home with my books and games and I've always looked like a half-baked potato (yes, half-baked. Because a completely baked potato is beautiful and tasty, and I taste as salty as my actions)- no matter how much Olga groomed me up. I liked to think that I was the Luigi of the house- the worlds' most inept, least memorable and least charismatic sibling.

Fun fact that it took our neighbors almost an entire year after we moved to the village to notice my parents had two kids, because I was always on my room or at the bar's kitchen.

My sister smiled, "It will be fun! Imagine: just you and me in a fancy party!"

"I'm concerned." It wasn't really my place to judge, but couldn't rich people find better things to spend their money on? Like I don't know, charity? Perhaps funding researches to find the cure for cancer?

"Why, though!? Think about all the food!"

The prospect of good food was something to look forward to. I mean, those kinds of parties have great food, but even though Olga attempted to hit me in my soft spot for food, I was still skeptical.

"Why wouldnt I? That Julián guy showed up out of nowhere inviting random people to a masquerade in his house. I know many conspiration theories to know where this is going."

"Mamá said his family are nobles and used to own all the lands in these parts. Including our village." Olga told me. Mother had mentioned his family used to own the lands some time ago but like, really? Why would a rich guy want to meet a bunch of peasants? Village people are not interesting. Well, I can say for sure that _I_ am the synonym of uninteresting, BUT the local drunks are entertaining sometimes...and that was about it, "Maybe he wants to get to know his neighbors? He sounds like someone who doesn't have many friends."

What neighbors? As far as I knew, the palace this Julián restored was at least 100 km away from my village. The only 'neighbors' he would have were harmful wildlife, pine trees and vine yards. And why would someone look for peasants as their friends I don't even want to know.

"Still," I started, still feeling suspicious of that whole affair- I am suspiscious about most things and a random ball in a rich guy's house wouldn't be different, "He could be gathering people in his house to sacrifice them all to some higher deity for all I know." The village gossiper who spent all her afternoons at our bar said she knew many people who were invited. And she knew _a lot_ of people from her Village Gossiper's Guild. That was a considerable amount of people to be sacrificed to Satan. Count Saez could get a great bargain for all those souls I'm sure.

Olga giggled, amused by my theories. The side of her green eyes crinkled when she did that, "Masha*, I admire your persistence but I hope you are aware that you won't be getting away from this social event."

"I don't understand why Mama made me go with you." I was _'gently'_ convinced by my mother to attend that social event with Olga, because she couldn't go alone. I never truly understood why having my company would be good for anything, since it was not my sister who got lost in Eluvian Central Station...

"She said you needed to _interact_ with _real_ people and get out of the house for once-" She went on, but suddenly stopped and put a hand in her mouth, "-I...ugh...probably shouldn't have told you that."

So making me go to a fancy social event was my mother's way of getting me out of the house? Good to know. Now I know who to blame (or to thank?) for setting in motion the chain of events that brought me to Thedas.

"Not everyone is blessed with your social skills, Olenka**." I pointed out, "I prefer the company of more civilized people such as Josephine." I pointed to the screen of my laptop and turned it so my sister could see. I liked to play as a male Inquisitor for whatever reason, and I always romanced Josephine because I loved her romance, it was so sweet and it almost made me melt every time, even if I had the hugest crush on Cullen (but then again, who doesn't?) since Dragon Age 2. I've always wondered if I would find someone who would accept my weird behaviors and put up with my bullshit.

But Olga sometimes wouldn't put up with my bullshit. And that was one of those times, because at that moment she did some kind of acrobactics over the piles of clothing on the floor (in her stupidly high heels!) and closed my laptop with a thud. "Josephine will be there when we come back, I am sure." She stared me dead in the eyes, pretty proud of herself.

Plot twist I never came back.

Okay that was uncalled for. Sorry. I kind of need to rethink about some of the things I say.

I sticked my tongue at my sister, earning a frown from her, oh how I loved to piss her off, "Don't do that! You're ruining your make-up!" She said.

I never knew stiking your tongue at someone could ruin make-up... the more you know.

I shrugged, shaking the curls of my black hair, "Couldn't care less."

While I couldn't care less about my appearence in this day because I was generally pissed at my existance, Olga cared a bit too much about the way _I_ looked that day. She spent the entire afternoon playing dress up- with me being the doll. She did my nails, hair, make-up and even planned out my outfit.

"Oh Maria what a disaster! Look at your hair!" Olga gasped dramatically. Clearly pissed at me waiving my head around and ruining the hairstyle she did for me. "Come here, let me fix this!"

I sighted, defeated. I wouldn't be able to ignore her, especially when I knew she just wanted me to look cute. I put my laptop to the side and made my way to Olga. My bare feet felt cold against the wooden floor of the room.

She was usually taller than me- not too much- and when she wore high heels she looked like a freaking giant. Her knee lenght strapless dress was green to match her eyes, and it also was adorned with white flowers from the chest to her waist, which complimented her figure.

"I'm here." I turned my back to her and opened my arms, "You can begin the ritual."

"Please don't say that."

Apparently the ten minutes I spent playing Dragon Age ruined my hair completely so Olga started to re-do the braids. I knew how to fix the braids, though, but it made Olga happy to do it for me and I enjoyed the feeling of her fingers running through it.

Fast forward because no one wants to hear Olga gossiping about the local hobos while she did my hair. I'm sure that when Olenka gets old she will ascend to the post of the next local gossiper after she kills the previous one in a trial by combat and become the leader of the Village Gossiper's Guild. I wonder...did she gossip about me when I disappeared? I bet she would have plenty of material to gossip if she knew about me and Cole. Even Lavellan couldn't resist gossiping about us.

"Be careful!" I growled to her, while she re-braided my hair into an elaborated tiara braid, pining the ends with hair clips. She just braided the front parts into the tiara braid and she let the rest fall into void-colored loose curls in my back. My hair was long, so it reached my midback. I liked it long, that way I could strangle people.

Gosh no, scratch that. My murderous intentions should only be revealed later.

Let me try again: I liked it long, that way I could look cute and prevent my mother from annoying me. And bonus points that Cole says it is pretty and smells nice.

I quickly glanced at the window of my room. From my window I could see many pine trees bathed in daylight still, and as much as I dispised nature like that, the familiar smell of pine trees is what I miss the most about home.

"It wouldn't hurt if you stood still!" She growled back.

"There better be good food to make for all this pain."

"You're too quick to complain, Masha," She finally pinned the last rebel strand of hair, "Look, done!" She took a step back to admire her creation. "Hey, come see my masterpiece!" Olga then grabbed me by the hand and took me to the mirror kept behind the door.

She pushed me in front of her so I could admire myself in the mirror.

What I saw surprised me in a way. Of course I knew it was me in the reflection, but it didn't feel like me. Where was the girl who always looked like a half-baked potato?

"You look so pretty!" Olga put her hands in my shoulders and she looked like she was going to cry out of happiness. I faintly smiled while glancing at us in the mirror. I felt pretty that moment, even if I was a bit uncomfortable. I usually feel uncomfortable when attractive people such as Olga compliment me because I keep remembering that time when Regina George complemented that girl's skirt but immediately after she talked shit.

"And nothing like myself." I stared at myself in the mirror and could not see the real Maria behind all the make-up and fancy dress.

"I forgot something, hold on a second," Olga suddenly let go of my shoulders and left me alone in the room with my thoughts.

I stared at myself in disbelief.

Raven-colored hair fell perfectly in my bare shoulders and the little tiara braids looked professional.

My face was impecable. My painfully pale skin looked clean and pretty- and somehow Olga made the freckles all over my face look cute- my lips rosy and my eyes tainted in a faint metallic pink eyeshadow. The precise eyeliner made my grey eyes pop out.

The dress itself was the least surprising thing, it was a simple, plain long purple dress made with some silk-imitation kind of thing with just two thin spaghetti strips holding the top. And Olga insisted on putting a black ribbon just below my breasts 'To match your hair!' She said. As you can see, Olga liked to match colors of accessories with the outfits she planned out.

To sum up, I looked so damn lovely. When you look like a half-baked potato all your life it's weird to see yourself like a princess for one night.

And for the first time since we received the invitation to the masquerade, I felt that maybe, _just maybe_ that ball wouldn't be a complete waste of time. After all, so little things extraordinary happened in my life. Well, there was this one time two of the local drunks fist-fought over the last bottle of wild-berry liquour inside the bar...that was entertaining.

I wasn't expecting it to be _actually_ extraordinary you see, one hardly could see being transported to another dimension coming.

A while later, I heard the tap-taps of Olga's high heels, which meant she was coming up the stairs to my room. I was right, and two seconds later she opened up the door, almost slamming my face in the process, "I brought you shoes, Masha!" She waved a pair of black high-heels around.

I raised an eyebrow when I took notice of the shoes. "No way in hell I'm wearing those."

"Put them on." She shoved the pair into my arms. The heels were made of black velvety stuff that felt smooth to the touch. I will admit, they looked nice but the heels were so damn high, I'd guess some eight centimeters.

"My feet ache just by _seeing_ the hight of those heels."

"Fashion always has a price, my dear sister. The earlier you learn that, the better,"

I grunted. That was the reason why I preferred not to engage with such mundane things such as fashion. Ew.

"Don't you have anything more comfortable?" I asked, hopefully, staring down to the pair of heels.

"If you think you are going to get away with going in Converses, think again."

"Oh gee I was hoping you'd let me go with my flip-flops!" I joked.

"Well, of course not! It would look awful on _you_ and it would make _me_ look awful by being seen with you," She smiled, not getting my joke. Olga was sometimes too pure and too innocent to understand my sarcasm and jokes. Even if she was three years older than me, I liked to think that I was the most mature one of the two. "Now go, put them on," she shoved me into the study table I had, which was kept across my messy bed. We were both careful not to trip over the piles of my filth.

I sat by the table and put on the pair of high heels. They felt kind of weird in my feet, but at least they were not hurting when I stood up. Being taller was a welcome feeling for someone who has been a medium tall all her life. No wonder why kings and such always want to appear tall.

I raised the rim of my long dress a little to show Olga how the pair of heels looked with it, "Tell me, they are not too bad, are they?" My sister tilted her head a little, as if thinking if that specific pair of heels were the right ones to go with that specific dress. She often changed shoes three times to find out the one with the perfect shad to match her outfit. That day, though, she was quick to grab her pair of absurdly high white heels.

"I suppose they aren't." I replied, looking down at my feet. They did look nice despite looking a bit twisted to fit into the shoe.

"There's also this," Olga conjured something wrapped in newspaper wrapping from thin air.

I raised an eyebrow curiously over the wrapped thing. It was not big, but it still made me curious, "What's that?"

"You can't go to a masquerade ball without a mask, can you?" She handed me the package and smiled, urging me to open it. I did as her silent commands told me to and unwrapped the newspaper and could see what was inside: a mask that would cover the left half of my face which also had a plastic rod to hold it up. The accessory had carefully glued glitter in a gradient of shades of purple. "I put some glitter on it for you,"

That was my mask. Olga's mask was just simple green with white glitter and it would cover the upper half of her face. My sister had some questionable tastes, but I couldn't deny the mask she did for me, for I didn't have any other masks to wear and showing up to a masquerade without a mask would not be the ideal.

I never thanked Olga for the things she did for me, and that was one of my regrets after I never saw her again. I took so many things she did for granted, that's why kids, love your siblings and don't take them from granted. Who knows if you'll end up in another universe and never see them again?

Enough with me feeling sad for everything that happened. I am sure no one is here to listen to me giving advice (because I am not suited to give out advice).

With my left hand, I held the plastic rod and brought the mask up to my face. I looked weird as hell with that on, "I look like the Phantom of the Opera if he went to the Brazilian Carnaval." I commented.

Olga hummed, "Is this a good thing?"

"I can't really tell."

"Well then, are you ready to go?"

"If we stay here any longer I might just run off into the woods in these _fabulous_ high heels."

"The sheep around here would probably ruin them, ha, ha, ha," My sister laughed sarcastically, "Let's go, then."

Olga gestured for me to follow her out of the room, which I did, not before grabbing my phone (as if I would go anywhere without it. Now that I'm thinking, it was good to have brought the phone with me that day. How else would I show cute kitten pictures to Iron Bull?).

We left my room and walked down the old and cranky wooden flight of stairs that lead to the second floor of the house. There were three floors in the house and a basement to store wines and things like that. The first floor was dedicated for the tavern, second floor for my parents' and sister's room and the third floor, the attic, was my room. Our house was old, like all other houses in the village, and almost everything smelled like old people and stone. I wouldn't be surprised if I smelled like old people after living for ten years in that house.

Olga led me to the final wooden door at the end of the second flight of stairs that separated the actual house from the bar. It was a good idea to put a door separating our private rooms from the rest because the last thing we would want was a drunk man showing up in my room in the middle of the night asking for orange juice. Nice thinking ahead, ancestors.

The bar simply called 'Pirinees' (very original, I know. Especially when our village was located in the northern part of those mountains) was old. Not vintage which is hipster cool. Just old. Old as the house itself. It was not a big space, but somehow we managed to shove in half a dozen of wooden tables that I bet were the same used in the past 200 years. There was the balcony where the drinks would be served, and behind it my evil lair, I mean the kitchen.

The décor has been the same for as long as I can remember. Some old and creepy paintings adorned the white walls (great-grandmother had dubious tastes) and the old vinyl disk player that belonged to my grandfather was still in it's rightful place by the exit door. Apart from that, there wasn't anything interesting to say about it.

And if you are wondering, the bar did not smell like old people like the rest of the house. It smelled like _both_ old frying oil _and_ old people.

I hate to disgrace my ancestors who could make a living in this ass end mountain village by serving drinks but that was the truth. I won't describe the bar further because I am afraid to gross people out, so yeah. Let's just say no one at my house had a talent for keeping the place clean. Let's move on...

It was about 10 p.m. when Olga and I opened the door leading to the bar, which meant that in normal days we would have our usual three local drunks, some normal townsfolk, the village gossiper and the eventual lost traveller, but today it was just the three town drunks drinking away their misery. The three were playing an _intense_ game of domino in the table closest to the bar

"Come on, Ignacio, you are not as good you used to be." One of the men, a chubby bearded guy named José, commented, "Who would've made that move?" He pointed to the pieces of domino in the table.

The second one, Marcos, who wore a hat to cover up his falling hair chuckled after taking a huge gulp on some weirdly colored alcoholic beverage, "Maybe all the wild-berry liquor finally crammed up your head."

"You just say that because I win all the time- drunk or not." The final one, Ignacio, was my favorite. He always wore the same checked shirt and the same pair of stripped pants ('a fashion crime', as Olga called it) and he only changed the color of his suspenders. Old man Ignacio had a mild obsession with wild-berry liquour for as long as I can remember. One of my oldest memories in that house was of him trying to sneak out of the bar with one of our liquour bottles inside his pants and my father running to catch him in the nearby woods while screaming profanities in Russian. Other than that, he tips me more than he does my sister. I wonder if he still drinks absurd amounts of liquor or he just died in a very stupid way. People in these parts tend to do so. I blame the lack of pollution. "See?"

My sister and I made our way pass their table so we could talk to my mother who was bartending at the moment. It didn't surprise me that Mama was the one bartending- even if that was Papa's job she would cover up for him when he went out 'to get some air'. But everyone knew he just went outside to smoke. An awful habit, as everyone tells him, but he seemed to think there's something aesthetic about a writer who smokes.

Oh yes, my father was a writer. Don't ask me if he was a good one because I never knew. No one did, in fact. He never published anything nor let anyone see anything he wrote (if he ever wrote anything, that is). Not even my mother, and she _married_ him. Don't get me wrong, I loved my father, he was always there for me. But it's hard to defend him when he basically did nothing all day and just talked about how one day he will bring glory to the Motherland and be as great as Tolstoy or Dostoyevsky. But hey, he taught me how to say nasty things in Russian, so it's also a win. Shame he never knew what happened to me after the ball, I'm sure he could've spun a good tale out of that just as Varric did.

"Good evening, everyone~" My sister happily greeted the half-drunken men playing domino. They instantly turned their heads to our direction and I sighed at the attention Olga brought us.

"Ahh, Olga! As pretty as always!" Ignacio then looked at me in disbelief, "Ever since you returned here, Alicia, I never thought I'd see your little girl in a dress!" He said, addressing my mother at the bar.

I smiled nervously, feeling all eyes of the room were on me, "Trust me, I'm just as surprised."

Mama joined in, making me turn my attention to her, from the place she was behind the counter, cleaning the glass cages that held old oily appetizers, "And I never thought I'd see you half sober." I never could tell if she was joking or if she was really that mean when she said those things to our costumers, I bet she was just the ambitious type of mean. We never really got along, as you would expect.

She knew exactly what to say to the right people so that she could always come on top. She never really had a knack for being _nice to_ people like Olga and Papa had, which spun things like this when she talked. That was basically the only thing that we had in common- our dislike for people in general and dealing with them (although my dislike came for all people simply because I prefer to be alone, her dislike was for everyone she couldn't get anything from). Well, that and our grey eyes and black hair. Her's was in a neat short cut, though. Most women around here cut their hair short when they become mothers.

Mother was...well, exactly what you would expect for a middle-aged woman who worked hard twenty hours a day seven days a week. And that meant frustrated with life. More specifically, frustrated with both the bar and me. She was eager to take over when my grandparents died, saying it was her duty being their only child to keep the ancient bar running and that with the knowledge she accumulated over the years she could turn it into her own personal Empire. But when she finally took over, she realized how much work one has to put in the place to make ends meet and preventing Gordon Ramsay showing up to criticize our kitchen thus becoming angry with life for 'leaving her perfectly good job back in San Sebastián for this sloppy tavern' as she said a lot.

I honestly never understood just how confident she was in turning this tavern into something decent to the point of abandoning her job in the city for this shithole. I think everyone who's reading has played Diner Dash (or any other phone game really) long enough to know that running a restaurant is very difficult and the only way you can succeed is cheating (or using real currency to buy in-game gems which _of course_ you needed to complete the game). And in the real world, cheating is avoiding taxes and serving food from questionable sources to people and charge a fortune. Mother never went that low, I hope.

She went low, though, in trying to have Olga and I marry rich in any way she could. I never knew if she wanted that so we would not have to worry about money like she did or if she wanted extra funds to finally complete her restaurant empire. I could never tell what were Mama's intentions. One time when we were kids, she brought my sister and I to meet her old boss' children in hopes to...well, I don't know what she wanted to achieve by bringing a 6 and a 9 year-old to a cocktail party with people older than _her_.

"You hurt me." Ignacio put his both hands on top of his heart, faking a stab wound. The other men laughed their asses off, almost falling from their chairs. What Mama said to those men never bothered them, because they were probably too drunk all the time to know any better.

I facepalmed.

Mother facepalmed as well, "Well, Ignacio, go back to your domino otherwise I'll have to charge extra every time you glance in my girls' direction."

"You shouldn't be treating your regulars like that, Alicia." José added, his speech funny because of his drunkness, "Another round! I demand a trial my combat over the last pair of pants!" At that point those men were already in Wonderland.

I shook my head, smiling. Those drunks were the highlight of my days.

"Ah, those men. What a bother." Mother finally left her place behind the counter not before cleaning her hands in her worn out white apron she always wore to work and made her way to me and my sister, her eyes grey eyes scanning me, as if looking for any flaws in my appearance. "Maria dear, you would look so much prettier if you only smiled more."

At that point, I wasn't _that_ bothered in putting a dress and heading to a shady party with my sister, because I honestly thought it could be _somewhat_ fun. But when mother said that, I completely lost it.

It was just like she was in this eternal search for something to criticize about my general existence, whether it was something with my hair, my clothing and heck, even the fact that I don't smile often (it's not that I'm a bitter person who's angry all the time and is allergic to happiness (most of the time, anyway), it's just my face and she for some reason thought I didn't smile), or something that would change who I was to fit into her moldy old former she managed to squeeze Olga into. But steel doesn't bend easily and I was not going to go down without one last fight.

Thinking back, I probably could have avoided that, and prevented my last memory of her being of bitterness. She was my mother, after all. But to be honest, I don't know why I bothered...'the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb', which means relationships formed by choice can be stronger than ones formed by birth, and I am living proof of that.

"I would smile more if I weren't being _forced_ to attend a party." I provoked. I must admit, I had heated discussions with my mother every single day (we didn't have one per hour because I was always using my headphones when I was in the kitchen with her- so if she wanted to talk shit to me I wouldn't listen), and most of them ended with one of us storming out of the room.

When I was a kid, I tried to please her. I really did. But when I grew up, I realized I shouldn't let anyone change me, even if she claimed it was 'for my own good'. I used to think I was only a puppet to her- an extension of herself, a second chance to succeed in life. But now...after all that's happened in my life and the fact that I will never see her again makes me think if I was being too harsh. Doesn't matter now.

"We already had this discussion." She frowned. She did that every time she was about to get angry with me. It was a shame, mother was beautiful when she was younger, but all the frowning she did crinkled her skin permanently- a lesson to be learned, everyone, "You _are_ going with your sister and end of story."

There are 7 trillion nerves in the human body and some people manage to get on every single one of them.

"Olga is 22, she can take care of herself just fine without my help."

Olga was still by my side, and she was visibly uncomfortable, staring nervously at the half opened door to the street, she was always the most affected one when those fights happened. Unexpectedly, she started," Oh dear! Papa is calling me! I should go see what he wants~" With that she quickly made her way to the front porch, so she would not get involved in one of the petty little fights, "I'm coming!"

"Maria," Mother sighed, trying to hold back her anger, "Look, I had to call in many favors in order to get you and your sister a pair of invitations to Count Saez's masquerade- or whatever- so that you could have a chance to meet people of distinction, and you are going even if I need to drag you there myself."

That brought some much needed light into the current situation.

The invitation wasn't random as Olga and I originally thought. Mother was the one who arranged for the invitation to find us so that we could meet rich people? And people still ask why I couldn't get along with her.

Something that gives me comfort, though, is the fact that I am in a relationship with a boy who has no possessions whatsoever, and _I'm okay with it_ \- because I love him. Mother would have a fit of rage if she knew. She would have a fit of rage if she knew about half the things that went on in my life since the ball.

But that is what I think now, years after it happened. At the time, I was furious, of course. I wouldn't have thought that my own mother could scheme like that. Actually, I would've, but under normal circumstances I would not bother with her and just mind my own business, "I'm real tired of this abuse. I'm _trying_ not to flip but you make it impossible!" My face was probably burning with rage, but I doubt the make-up could cover that up. I tried to contain myself not to throw my heels at her, "If you are so obsessed in having us marry rich, why didn't you follow your own advice?"

"That is not the point," she crossed her arms, "I just want what is best for you and your sister,"

After all of that stupid and unnecessary drama Mother put me up to, you would've thought 'oh why doesn't Maria refuse to go to the party if she hates so much what her mother did?' I totally would do that just to piss her off if I was the only one involved, and I would not even care about having wasted the whole afternoon grooming up- only if it weren't for my sister. She was _so_ excited it almost pained me. I could not just abandon her like that. I would endure this masquerade and everything it meant for my mother because of Olga.

And because I secretly like to waltz.

"You're not doing a good job, then." Touché.

"I've had enough of this for an evening." As I expected, she threw her arms in the air and then stormed out of the room, in the direction of the door that led to the upper part of the house, not before shouting to the top of her lungs, "Nikolaj Sergeyevich Yablonsky! Put that cigarette down without burning the whole forest and come here talk some sense into your daughter!" She slammed the door behind her.

Nikolaj Sergeyevich Yablonsky. That was my father's full name. His name, Nikolaj, then his patronymic that meant 'son of Sergey' (Sergey is an unfortunate name to have in Spain, because it sounds like 'ser gay' which means 'to be gay'. But luckily my grandfather never left Russia so he never knew that) and our family name, Yablonsky. As I understand, it has something to do with apples (the Russian word for apple being 'яблоко' which is pronounced as 'yahb-law-kaw'). It was such a mouthful, and yet mother could yell his name in one breath- it must have taken a lot of practice to do that. I liked his name, it had a nice sonority to it.

I liked my name too, even if the Spanish government didn't allow the gender flexion of it, nor the patronymic. Sometimes Papa or even Olga referred to me as Maria Nikolajevna Yablonskaya, though. That would be my name if I had been born in Russia instead of Spain.

I heard footsteps coming from the direction of the door, and the familiar strong smell of cigarettes, "I'm here, Любимая **_[multiple translations, but I like 'loved one' better]_** -" Father said, as he entered the room eating a bowl of cereal with vodka instead of milk. I'm joking, of course, just because he is Russian it doesn't mean he is weird (he was weird, though, but that didn't have to do with his nationality). I like to fight Russian stereotypes as much as I can because people have the wrong idea that Russians are all drunk-ass communists (they are not entirely wrong about the drunk part), but it's hard to do so when your father shows up in a complete set of black Adidas tracksuit. He glared at me for a while slightly tilting his head, as if he was thinking, "Who are you and what did you do to my Mashenka*?"

I smiled.

Father's presence was soothing, as if he had this calming aura accompanying him. Which was a weird thing to say if one didn't know him, because his appearance was kinda scary and intimidating. He was big- no, no, he was not fat- like a wardrobe, a beefy and bearded wardrobe. Both his red-ish hair and beard were kinda long- not Gandalf the Grey level, but more like a sailor- and if you looked carefully, you could see some little white strands of hair here and there.

He was very strong, I bet he could crack an egg between his forearm and biceps, and up until recently he could still carry me in his arms. If I told anyone that my father was anything other than a guy who works for a mob or a bodyguard they would've laughed. I know everyone loves the stereotype of a big scary softie and I'm glad to say that they do exist.

Truly, Father was one of the sweetest people I knew, always there for me, always defending me from my mother.

"Mashenka died and this is just an ethereal manifestation of your imagination," I gently smoothed my dress.

"Hey fragment of my imagination, can you do a flip?" Father's accent was one of the best things. It was so cute! The way he pronounced the words harshly amused me. I bet that was the reason why mother married him.

I figured that he was summoned here by my mother, so naturally he would want to know why, so I started, "Aren't you going to ask about what just happened?"

"I'd rather not know nor get involved, милая **_[pretty]_**." He had those pet names in Russian for Olga, Mother and I, beside our nicknames. Russian nicknames were something I never could understand. I mean, how can you get 'Kolya from 'Nikolaj'? I could ask the same question for 'Bill' and William', though. Anyway, I, Maria, was Mashenka to him, Olga was Olyusha** and my mother Alicia was Alya. As I said, he taught me how to say nasty things like swears and stuff, but he did not _only_ teach me swears- he actually taught me how to speak pretty decent Russian, and trust me, few things in the world are better than talking shit about people in another language right to their faces and be sure they have no idea what you are talking about, "We both know Alicia can be harsh sometimes."

" _Sometimes_?"

"I'm trying to be positive here."

"I really don't understand her obsessions or whatever she is plotting."

"I agree with her in one thing: you should get out more, meet new people, make new...ugh...what do you Mediterraneans call it?"

"Enemies?" I suggested. I can make enemies really easily. I already hate most of the people I have to socialize daily, and if there's something I believe more than I believe the existence of aliens is hate at first sight, "Comrades?"

"Comrades, _really_?" I keep forgetting that 'comrade' is a soviet thing, "No... I meant friends."

"Should I really?" I raised an eyebrow. Honestly, making new friends? Do I have time to figure out if people are shit in order to prevent future emotional frictions? Nope. Am I cute? No. But do I have a nice personality? Also no. "I don't know why I even allow myself to go outside. I'm allergic to pollen and social situations."

I say 'I don't know' a lot, as you can probably already tell, but trust me, I be knowing.

"You have my sense of humor, so that's something." He scratched his beard, "Either way, I think you are a beautiful 19 year old girl, and you should show your beauty to the world."

"You're my father, it's your obligation to say that." I am literally the Grinch. Every girl in the world aspired to be a Disney Princess, full of beauty, grace and a voice that can charm little animals, but I turned up as one of the bitch villains. Go figure.

Behind my shitty attitude lies a cold and emotionless interior.

"That's what the government wants you to think." Ah good old Nikolaj and his conspiracy theories, and people wonder why I believe that 10% of the world's population are lizards. That comment made me chuckle, earning a smile from my big red-haired father. He did always try to make me laugh when mother was being a bitch, "Are you feeling better now?"

"I am never _better_ , I'm just less pissed off." Ughhh, repeating this talk after years still makes my head hurt. But I'll not be a hypocrite and say I should forget all my painful memories just to heal- that's like the opposite of what I've been trying to tell Cole all this time...anyway. I pulled out my phone, unlocked it and saw what time it was- almost 11 p.m., "Why, would you look at the time? It's nearly 'I hate myself o'clock'- I mean time to go to he party before I change my mind,"

I showed the hour projected in the phone to father, but I accidentally dropped it on the floor.

Sometimes I feel like the whole world hates me. That feeling never goes away.

I stared at the phone on the floor, I don't know why, maybe I expected it to magically come back to my hand. At the time I never even dreamed about magic actually existing, but my lovable father answered my silent commands and picked it up for me, "Here." He handed the black pocket device to me. I studied it and luckily there appeared to be no cracks on the screen, "Come, Olyusha is waiting for you in the car." He put his hand gently on my back and led me to the door. When we finally reached it, I took in a deep breath. At that point of the day, it was dark already, even for summer. During summer, dusk normally falls after 10, which was nice since I work best during the night. Anyway, Papa stopped at the door and pointed at the family's blue car, and I could see Olga inside, "Have fun, and watch out for each other, alright?" He gently kissed my forehead- his beard brushing in my skin, a familiar sensation I miss, "Я люблю тебя **_[I love you]_** ,"

"Я тоже люблю тебя, Отец **_[I love you too, Father]_**." With that, I carefully made my way through the front porch, trying not to step on the grass and step instead on the little rock path that led to the street, where Olga was waiting, as the house's door closed behind me.

And that was the last time I ever saw my father. There was no way I could've known what was going to happen later that evening, so I don't blame myself, but it's kind of sad to think about it. At least we parted in good terms- something I can't say about my mother.

Continuing...

There was literally _one_ street in the village. I wish I was kidding. One single street that basically just ran over a hill. Everywhere one look, they could see pine trees, and mountains. If I threw myself off the slopes to the right, I'd slide until I got to France, where the closest center of civilization was.

Because of the painful lack of civilization, I identified myself a lot with Belle from Beauty and the Beast and honestly that was rather alarming. One can only understand Belle if one has lived in a poor provincial town.

If it were up to me, I would hardly call _that_ collection of something like 10 houses a village, but the laws regarding how many buildings a village has is beyond me. All the houses looked fairly the same, old block-shaped structures made out of stone. Most of the houses had windows and balconies, ours had three of both, and the balconies were adorned with pink flowers (or were them red? Odd, I don't remember), cultivated by my sister. She liked pretty flowers, little cute animals, masquerade balls and things like that. Not that I'm making fun of her for liking those things, because I secretly liked them too, but I'd rather not make this public for I have a reputation of bad bitch to maintain- plus Cole already knows about that anyway, so it doesn't really matter. I'd like not to let Dorian know about that side of me, though.

I'm glad I made the Beauty and the Beast parallel because instead of my little town full of little people waking up to say 'Bonjour', they woke up to saying this shit:

"Somebody call the Vatican, I've just witnessed a miracle! Maria is outside!" The familiar annoying high-pitched voice of our front neighbor filled my ears and for a second I had to fight the urge to rip them off with my teeth. I didn't like people in general, since I believe in hate in first sight, but that woman was impossible. I tried to ignore her, but I couldn't.

I turned my head to the direction of the voice only to find the village gossiper, who also happened to be my front neighbor, peeking from one of the windows of her house. Actually no, she was standing in one of the balconies of her house, looking for something to gossip about...always judging. Well, the woman was chubby and old, not too old actually, but older than my father, and that meant about...60 years old. She artificially colored her short hair red because she was always jealous of Olga's hair color, but whenever she painted it, it turned out shitty.

I sighed, I'm sick of being alive, "Look Asunción, I'm too tired to talk to you right now."

"You're too young to be tired."

"And you are too old to even be alive and yet here we are." I retorted. Thinking back, I probably should not have given her even more reasons and material to gossip about me and how poorly I had been educated, but the look on her face was _priceless._ Totally worth it _,_ "Now, if you excuse me, I have to go."

"Your mother will hear about this!" At that point I had already a stuck up grin in my face and didn't even look back at the woman, "You bring shame to your family!"

"Oh please, _do_ tell her!" I said, making my way to the car, while Olga pressed the car horn in the rhythm of Michael Jackson's 'Thriller', "Being the shame of the family is quite liberating. You should try it sometime."

And I wondered why people from my village didn't like me. Once Olga asked me why, and I gave her a list of all my hateable characteristics in alphabetical order. Olenka always loved her damn lists.

I opened the front door of the car and quickly shoved the entire dress inside. Walking in those high heels was a very difficult task, not to mention I almost tripped over the dress a couple of times.

"Are you okay, Masha?" My sister asked, a worried look on her face. I didn't know if she was referring to my discussion with Mother or that _burn_ I inflicted in that bitch Asunción that not even a pack of ice will heal.

"I've learned to live with a very flexible definition of 'okay'."

"But how do you feel?"

"I don't." The only thing I knew at the time was that I would like not to socialize with that woman ever again. And that wish actually did came true, much to my own surprise. I was expecting a lecture about my shamming behavior regarding the village gossiper when I came back from the party, but that never happened because I managed to get myself into such a bigger mess than just making my mother angry. So, children, let this be a cautionary tale of be careful what you wish for, "Let's go before I decide to kill myself by drinking bleach."

"I hope we won't make ourselves sound like fools," Olga smiled as she turned on the car's engine. "No, no, no. It will be fun! Just wait and see~"

"Whatever you say, dear sister, whatever you say."

With that we drove down 'Calle Mayor' A.K.A the only street in the village, heading south, to the path through the rocky road. I was hoping that the road down the mountain would be uneventful because Olga was a horrible driver and I'd rather not have my remains collected all the way down in France. I _could've_ driven that day but I was lazy.

It was already dark, so the road became more dangerous, "So, do you know how to actually get to the palace?" I asked. We didn't even use a map or anything, we had just a rough knowing of the direction given in the invitation- speaking of which, it was not with me. I thought it wouldn't make a difference anyway.

"Nope, but we'll figure it out."

That was the beginning of the events that turned my life upside down.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part I- Origin Story**

 **Chapter III-** Maria Yablonsky and the Ring From the Trash

"You know, I'm pretty sure that was illegal." I commented, as Olga, driving in the astounding speed of 100km/h in a dangerous mountain road, made a risky overtaking of the black car in front of us, "And look at the speed you're going! That's like, double illegal." Olga's phone was held in one of those sticky supports on the front glass- the GPS app her phone was connected to kept beeping in order to alert us that the car was going too fast.

Olga smiled sweetly, "Nothing is illegal if you don't recognize the authority of the government."

"You are welcome to tell the king that anarchy is the only true way to go." I watched the road, fiddling with the ends of my black hair, which felt surprisingly soft to the touch, must have been the stuff Olga put in it. After we overtook the other car, we were pretty much alone, with no one else in front or going the other way. The only company we had were the tall pine trees and the moon. Those mountainside woods seemed endless, which only made me more distressed that it was taking us forever to arrive at the party, "Hey, are you sure we are not lost? It's taking forever to find this palace."

She smiled, not taking her eyes from the road, "Trust me, would you?"

"Are there even that much palaces around here to confuse us?"

"You underestimate my power, dear sister."

"I never underestimated your...ugh...power...I'm just saying that we left blindly without any thought of how to get to the ball."

"But you forget I kind of know where it is."

"I just don't want to arrive too late so that all the good food will already be gone."

"A fair point." My sister acknowledged, "If you're so annoyed at this, just put the address on my phone and the magical Google will help us."

"Why haven't I thought of that before?" I replied, sarcastically. The reason why I hadn't done that in the first place was because I had forgotten the invitation, and that fancy salmon colored paper had the exact instructions on how to get to this torture chamber- ooops, ball (those are so similar it confuses me even now. Every now and then Ellana asks me to attend some fancy Orlesian party with her and Lady Vivs because no one else can stand Orlesians for too long except for me, just because I can't understand the futile things they say most of the time)- and of course I didn't want to tell my sister I was stupid and forgot the invitation. Meaning I had to make something up, "What address should I put?" I said, casually, ignoring the fact that I had forgotten the paper.

"The one in the invitation, silly." Olga giggled. After a second, her expression changed from 'cute everyday Olenka' to 'Maria I know something's up and it's not the sky', and usually when that happened I knew my lie had gone to shit. Precious few times that happened though because I am not exactly proud to announce that I'm a pretty good liar- Mother always told me I should have been a lawyer. "Is there...a problem?"

"Ughh, we might have a tiny problem, yes."

Olga let out a tiny sigh, "We forgot the invitation, didn't we?"

"Yup."

"Well...in that case we will have to find the ball with the help of my guiding instincts." My sister chuckled, no doubt remembering all the fun times we had getting lost in the mountains. You see, Mama and Papa rarely ever left our village, so, naturally, the ones running errands for them elsewhere were Olga and I. Even before I had learned how to drive I would accompany my dearest sister to the bigger cities close by and let me tell you we got lost all the time. Once Mama told us to go buy some fresh fish from San Sebastián (because we couldn't just buy fresh fish anywhere else. I think it was because Mother had some kind of agreement with the fishermen there) and the trip that would be approximately 1 hour long took 6 hours because we accidentally ended up halfway to Paris without noticing that at some point the traffic signs changed from Spanish to French.

"Which are nonexistent, obviously." I rolled my eyes.

"It would be a terrible idea to make me angry right now, Masha. Your life is pretty much on my hands." Olga's pretty green eyes kept looking at the road and from time to time she would glance at me with the corner of her eyes.

I crossed my arms, "I've been dead inside since I was, like, 11. Nothing new there."

"Is this going to be one of your half-sarcastic nihilistic rants or do you truly not believe that there's good in the world?"

"It was going to be both, but now you've convinced me to shut up and let you concentrate in trying to get us to that blasted ball." I grunted, then softly added, "В пизду! **[exclamation of frustration, like 'damn it', literally 'in a cunt']** "

It always made me smile when I swore in Russian, even more than in Spanish, something about the language and the way the words rolled out of my mouth made me feel like your average gopnik. I also possessed a vast arsenal of swears in other languages, thanks to my father, and from time to time I'd use them.

"Maria! Don't fill my ears with those dirty words! You'll lower the IQ of the entire country like this!" Olga always hated when I used swears out loud, "I'd smack the back of your head if it weren't for those exquisite braids I made for you." Smacking one's head was something my father did when he was angry with either Olenka or I (but let's be honest here, I got into trouble much more than she ever dreamed of getting) and it hurt moderately. Mother's pinching, though, hurt like hell and she used much more frequently.

It always warms my insides when I remember that Olga didn't smack the back of my head on that occasion only because of my braids and not because she was driving and should be paying attention to the road and not her foolish sister.

I sticked out my tongue at her.

"Alright, be stupid. I couldn't care less." She said.

With that, we stopped talking, and I let my sister pay attention to the road. I was happy I could manage to piss her off. Always entertaining.

Speaking of entertainment, I figured I should entertain myself while Olga was pissed at me. I though about going on Tumblr on my phone but I remembered data was shitty along the road, so I decided to poke around the car to see if past-Maria left something fun for present-Maria hidden somewhere.

I opened the little glove-compartment in hopes of finding something to entertain myself with- I wasn't sure what I was expecting but a crosswords puzzle or a Rubric's cube would have been nice. Maybe even bleach, if I was lucky enough. I heard that when you die your laugh gets added to the Big Bang Theory laugh track.

Instead of something like what I mentioned earlier, I found a little opened package of salted sunflower seeds.

I instantly grinned.

I was, I am, and I always will be a slut for salted sunflower seeds.

I am such a slut for them, in fact, that I didn't even think about how long that package had been in the glove-compartment, because certainly I hadn't been the one to put them there for two reasons: one, I would never leave sunflower seeds unattended and two, I would never store them for later- I'm afraid I'm just that gluttonous.

I gently took the package and studied it. It seemed to still be edible, so I instantly started eating.

They tasted surprisingly normal- if not rather fresh- considering the circumstances.

I was halfway through eating them all when I guess the sound of me chewing attracted Olga's attention, "What are you eating?" She asked.

"Some old sunflower seeds, I guess." I replied, between my munching.

"And where did you even find those?"

"None of your business."

"You found them inside the glove-compartment, haven't you?"

"Maybe." I answered, as I poured a handful of seeds into my mouth directly, "What of it?"

"I think you'd like to know that those seeds expired two years ago."

I choked. The half-chewed seeds scratched my throat and mouth.

I might be a slut for the seeds but I'm not that desperate. I still have some common sense (not too much, but still).

"I'm kidding, Masha." My sister chuckled. I instantly relaxed and could manage to calmly swallow what I was already eating. If there was no threat I could continue eating, so I did, of course, "They actually expired three years ago." She added.

As quickly as one could say 'Зравстувите' **[Hello]** , I opened the window of the car and spat out the half-chewed seeds into the road. "Olga! What the fuck!" I exclaimed, between frenetic coughs out of the window trying to get those expired shits from my system.

"What? I just warned you!"

It took me a little while to get all that expired shit from my mouth without having any of it fall into my dress (the color purple stains easily, or so I'm told. I never wore that much purple to actually know, I've always preferred black, because it's that one color to match my dark soul), "You could have warned me before I started eating!"

"I'm sorry!" My older sister was genuinely sorry- she was just precious like that- her eyes glanced at me for a moment, as she gently pressed the acceleration button with her foot. How she could drive with a massive pair of heels was beyond human comprehension, "Please don't hold a grudge!"

"You know very well I'm too lazy to hold grudges." This will always be true. I might be too lazy to act on behalf of my stupid grudges but that doesn't mean I don't hate on people. I do hate on people a lot, especially before I get to know them, with the exception of Ellana Lavellan, of course. No one could ever hate that elf no matter how cold hearted. In a way, Lavellan reminds me a lot of Olga.

An awkward five second silence followed, before Olenka started again, still not taking her eyes off the road for a second, "Well then, why don't we listen to some music?"

There was absolutely no way I'd put my phone's music library on shuffle and expose my weird and complex music tastes that can range from video-game soundtracks to soviet songs or Viking folk metal to Eastern European synth pop and Disney songs. Or the worst of all: shitty pop. You know, Taylor Swift and things like that that little girls often listen to. The things that are so bad they're good, you know? Honestly I have no idea how Taylor Swift's first three albums found their way into my phone, I swear! For all I knew I could have scared Olga for life, if Vitas' '7th Element' came up, so I did what every responsible person would do: suggest using her phone instead, "From your phone's music library?"

Other than my peculiar tastes, Olga and I enjoyed 80's pop and soft rock. I mean, what's there not to like about Queen, Michael Jackson, Bonnie Tyler and A-Ha? Just listening to their tunes got my blood pumping. Sometimes I still sing some songs to myself in my atrocious accent when no one's looking. Of course, I sing when I think no one's looking, but sometimes they are and they tell me to stop before threatening to rip out my vocal chords.

"Sure." She smiled. With that, I gently took her phone from the support hanging from the front glass, selected the music app and put on shuffle. Really, Olga was never embarrassed at the shit she listened to, I'll give her that.

The song started playing and I instantly raised a questioning eyebrow. That song started with a catchy beat, but a few seconds into it the vocals sung in a language I didn't understand. I don't understand many languages (English being one of them) but I can identify most of them, but that one I couldn't. I assumed it was Japanese, and because of that I jumped into the conclusion that my sister was a weaboo who listened to anime openings.

"What the hell am I listening to?" I chuckled, "Olga, Olga...I would never have figured you for a weaboo." I would never have thought that my pretty and sociable sister would actually be one of the bottom of the barrel communities in the internet (if anyone was to become a weaboo it would be me). I had some sort of disgust of anime and things like that mainly because of the toxicity of the fans.

For those lucky enough not to know what a weaboo is I'll be kind enough to explain (don't get used to that though). A weaboo is anyone overly obsessed with Japanese culture to the point where they become annoying and weird. They normally are just weird girls who like Japan a little too much, but they sometimes can come in the form of greasy men in their late 30s who live in their mother's basement, play weird dating simulators with underage amine girls and have body pillows with the pictures of those same underage anime girls.

"I don't know what a 'weaboo' is.." Olga scratched her head gently (not to ruin her hair), "But if you're wondering, this is some Korean pop I found one day."

Oh dear Lord. Liking K-Pop is a tidly bit better than being a weaboo. Just a bit, "Ewww, Olenka!" I made a disgusted face, "Why do you even like these things?"

"As if you listening to weird soviet songs is any better."

"The only good thing about the Soviet Union were the songs, especially the marches." For what I've been informed, that was very much true. You see, communism is great in theory but put the control of Russia, Ukraine, Belarus, the Baltics and a bunch of Asian nations in the hands of a single power hungry psychopath and you get almost 100 years of misery. No wonder why Father fled that place, in the early 80s. He told us he was the only one who managed to escape- his parents convinced him to leave them behind- and good old Nikolaj lived in many places looking for a way to bring his parents to a better place, until he ended up in Finland, where he met Mother. He managed to gather enough money and favors to get Бабушка **[grandmother]** and Дедушка **[grandfather]** out of their home town of Tula (located close to Moscow) but the Union had collapsed then, so they decided to stay. I've heard so many horrors that one only knows if they listened to someone who had grown up there.

The soldier marches and folk songs were lit though, my favorite was called 'Смуглянка-Молдаванка'' **[The Brunette Moldavian girl]** and I still know all the words by heart. The song was pretty but the lyrics were kind of random. I bet that you, readers, thought I was going to say that my favorite was Катюша, but that is so basic. I like to delve into the deepest and most obscure songs.

"Leave me and my Korean music alone and I leave you and your Soviet songs alone as well."

"Fine, fine." I said, to avoid further awkwardness between me and my sister regarding obscure music tastes, "I'll just stay here looking at the window pretending I'm in a sad music clip."

And I did just that. Stared at the window, into the night's sky. It was a clear night, if I recall correctly, and since we were in the mountains with few villages about, we could see many stars.

* * *

It took us about 20 minutes after the music incident for me to be able to spot the palace. Don't ask me how Olenka managed to find it, because even if I wanted to know, I wasn't paying much attention at the time, and I secretly hoped we would get lost and eventually end up coming back home.

From the passengers' window, I could see a small overgrown path that led to a freaking huge white palace, illuminated by the moonlight as well as artificial red lighting. From what I could see, the palace possessed a rectangular shape, stretching far and wide, and at least four floors- but of course I couldn't see very well due to the garden in front- it was big too. The thing that stood out the most for me was the number of windows it had, why would someone need so many windows?

Glancing into the distance, believing I was in a sad music clip made me remember that I had passed by this road before. Not as long as I would like to admit but indeed long, when we last went to Bilbao, some five years ago or such. I remembered seeing that palace before, but it was not at this impressive state, no wonder why the Count was having a 'reinauguration' of his 'newly reformed family palace'.

The palace had been an old glorified country mansion that had been extended over the centuries, or so I'm told. As many old palaces go, I assumed it had the classic four sides around a central quadrangle and over one hundred rooms, and of course a huge garden with a fountain and a labyrinth. It might have been a trend among rich people to build their houses like that.

I squinted my eyes a bit, leaning on the window (careful, of course, not to get my makeup off) in order to attempt to see it better, "Is that it?" I asked my sister, pointing at the mansion.

My sister gently des accelerated the car so she could take a better look, "Look! There are other people getting inside! That must be it!"

I suddenly felt a mix of creepy anxiety and excitement as I observed that there were indeed other cars coming from the opposite direction from us entering the overgrown path towards the palace.

Olga's eyes sparkled so that I could see them despite the darkness, "This is so exciting, isn't it, Masha!?"

"It will be interesting, at least."

"Boo-hoo spoil sport.." Olga laughed, as we proceed into the path towards the mansion, "I'm sure you'll enjoy yourself even more than I will."

You can bet your left hand that I did. Whoops, was that offensive to Lavellan?

Well, if you consider being thrown into an adventure of a lifetime and learning fine things like burning people alive while dabbling in a bit of politics in a land where no one ever understood you counts as enjoying oneself, then I did quite enjoy myself that evening, "Dream on, конфетка. **[sweetie]** " I commented, as we finally got to the path. Olga and I had this thing where we would call each other 'sweetie' in Russian.

There was no longer pavement, which I assumed it was so because of the aesthetic of having just dirt, and the trees formed kind of like an arc above us. I don't know what kind of tree it was, but they had many pink flowers on them.

We road on the path for some five minutes until we finally arrived to a circular square where there was a big magnificent fountain, pouring water in different shapes. The cars in front of us all stopped in front of the path that led to the palace's front door, the people simply leaving them behind, "Wow, it's beautiful..." Olga said softly, in awe, upon gazing at the palace.

I would be a hypocrite if I said I wasn't awed by the palace, because I freaking was.

The mansion was indeed what I expected, the huge four rectangular walls, almost as if it was made of lego. There were so many windows (beyond that of which I could count- not that I ever could count very high), adorned with an artistic plaster style, as well as a gold trim along the crystalline glasses. Its walls were painted in perfect white, and the red lights danced about, illuminating everything in sight, I wondered why the lights were red, was the Count communist? I cringed a bit at the thought.

We went around the fountain and waited for a bit, until a very well dressed man came up to Olga's window. He was kind of old, and his black mustache was trimmed perfectly.

She lowered the window's glass and smiled at the man.

"Good evening, my ladies." The man greeted, in English. I knew it was English (not that it had done me any good before nor after to be able to only identify languages) but neither Olga nor I understood what he had said, because neither of us spoke English. I don't know about Olga, but I never wanted to learn English because it was too mainstream for me- not to mention that I honestly believed that the language of the future would be Russian, and I already had that covered, as well as Spanish, German and Polish, and I could also swear in Finnish for some reason, "Please leave the car keys inside so that I can park it for you."

"¿Qué? **[What?]** " I exclaimed, almost instantly, in Spanish.

I kept thinking if things would've turn out differently in my 'NPC story arch' if I had, at the very least a small understanding of the English language, I might have been killed on the spot I was found for all the shit I said.

"Oh forgive me." He laughed nervously, now speaking Spanish, "What I meant to say is for you to leave the keys inside the car so I can take care of it."

Olga and I exchanged glances.

The man was probably someone who worked for the Count- not to mention that there were others dressed like him picking up the cars when the guests arrived.

I nodded to my sister, then turned to the man, "Okay, we'll be off, then."

"Enjoy the evening!"

"Thank you." With that, Olga turned off the car, but left the keys inside so the man could do his job. It took us a little while to be able to get out of the car due to our fancy dresses and high heels, but we managed. I almost forgot my mask, but I got it in the last minute. The mask...it is one of the precious few things I still have from my previous life. The only thing I have to remember my sister by. It was a miracle it survived the events at the Winter Palace after I lent it to Lavellan for the evening, "Did you see? He called us 'Ladies'." She used the word in English, and I assumed she had understood that part just as I did.

"Why are you even surprised, Olenka dear? You certainly look the part."

I stepped off the car into some white and grey gravel, and looked around for a bit. There was a path that led to the front door of the palace, and two others that probably led to the gardens.

"The gardens must be precious." Olga commented, using her psychic powers to read my mind and say exactly what I was thinking at the time. I'm sure she spent too much time with Mother to learn that trick, it's quite useful.

"Yeah, yeah, sure." I said, as I stretched my legs as gracefully as I could, after all we were in a fancy place with fancy people so I needed to look and act the part, and that meant addressing people as the formal form of the 'you' pronoun: 'usted'. It was not everyday that I was required to use that pronoun, not to mention that verb conjugation for 'usted' is easy and it makes me feel intelligent by using. "Come on, let's go. There's food waiting for us."

My sister and I walked side by side in the path to the entrance, and some other people showed up, and then it was made clear that we were the worst dressed people in the party. Those other people had fancy hats with feathers, sparkling jewelry, and dresses like they were ripped off an expensive clothing store. The people didn't seem to notice Olga and I, which was great, because I don't think it would have been very good for Olenka to be laughed at by snobbish and basic bitches. Not that everything that's basic like Starbucks and Instagram bloggers is bad- I learned that later in life- but at the time I was pretty judgemental and a bitch about that.

The entrance to the mansion was beautiful. It had two big blue marble columns with golden trims on each side of the massive and beautifully carved wooden door- which reminded me of Narnia's wardrobe- and it was wide opened, with two well dressed servants (is it alright to call them servants?) at both sides, greeting everyone that entered with a 'good evening sir/madam'. Like the windows, the door frame had a golden trim along it, and I wouldn't be surprised if it was made out of real gold, by the looks of the Count's guests.

With my phone in one hand and the purple plastic rod-thing that held my mask in the other, I proudly entered the mansion, my black high heels making an elegant 'tap tap' in the marble floor- my big sister by my side, so that the attention would go to her and not me.

If the outside of the palace was already pretty, the insides were unlike anything I'd ever seen (in Spain, that is). It looked oddly familiar. There was a great white marble stairway leading up, the walls were white as well but there were gold embellishments on them, and in the arcs above our heads in the Greek style, along with more blue marble columns. After the first flight of stairs that ended in some sort of mini platform where there was this huge window with elegant blue velvet curtains, then the stairs divided into two, taking us another level up. Let's not even get started on the chandeliers.

In that place, even the golden handrails looked prettier than I did.

"Doesn't this place remind you of the Hermitage Museum in Saint Petersburg?" I head Olga ask, as we finally got to the second level, where there was another room with many fancy looking sofa-things, shelves jammed in books, a couple of fancy looking tables, waiters and a handful of masked guests.

So that was from where I remembered this place! Maybe the guy who reformed the palace inspired himself in that beautiful Russian palace. We went to the country of our namesake for the first and only time not long before the ball, by my father's request, so that we could meet our grandparents. Бабушка **[grandmother]** and Дедушка **[grandfather]** were very old and Papa wanted Olga and I to at least meet them before they passed away (they were very surprised with the fact that I spoke decent Russian, especially grandma Lyudmila, she was happy we 'hadn't forgotten our roots'. She died shortly after we came back home and I left, or rather, 'disappeared' before I knew what came of grandpa Sergey. I hope Father brought him to live in Irtee). That time we went to Tula (where my grandparents lived), Moscow and Saint Petersburg- where we visited the Эрмитаж.

"It does, right?" I replied.

We followed the other guests across the room, to an even bigger door than the one in the entrance. It was made out of dark wood and there were carvings on it as well, but unlike the first one, that one was closed, and there was a guy in front of it with a clipboard in one hand and a pen in the other. The trend of white plaster with golden trims and blue marble columns continued there. There were a couple of people collecting some belongings the other guests- like coats and shit- and took them elsewhere.

I later assumed the guy standing by the door was checking the guest list for any intruders- not that anyone would willingly want to spend their Saturday night in a palace with rich people they didn't know- as he asked the couple in front of us to give their names and the...uh oh...

The invitation.

Scheiße **[Shit].**

After exchanging a few words with the guests in front of us, the man opened the door for the couple, and I could catch a tiny glimpse of the room behind, it was bright white and gold and the ceiling was made out of glass. The man quickly closed the door behind the masked couple and turned his attention to my sister and I. "Good evening." He greeted, in English. He didn't look all that old, perhaps a couple years older than Olga, and he had a nice ginger beard, even though his hair was light brown.

What do people have with the English language, for goodness' sake!? I mean, everyone everywhere (even in fictional game worlds) expects pretty old me to speak this weird mix of French and German, but guess what!? I won't give in! It's much nicer to be the random kid in the room who doesn't have any idea about what's going on and I can talk shit of people right in their faces.

"Lo siento, pero no hablamos inglés. **[I'm sorry, but we don't speak English.]** " My sister, with all the patience in the world, told the man, a vibrant smile behind her mask. If it were me, I would've lost my patience completely and yelled obscenities in Russian. Well, there would still be time for that, the night was still young at that point.

"Ah, that's a relief." The young man smiled back, kind of nervously, the continued in Spanish, "My English isn't all that good and the Count seems to just have invited foreigners." He looked at me and my sister from head to toe, then quickly glanced at his clipboard, "Names, please?"

"I'm Olga Yablonsky and this is my sister Maria."

I felt so much safer with Olenka by my side it was almost unreal. I honestly don't know how people can hate their siblings- looking at you, Cersei Lannister- and the best thing about having Olga as your big sister was that since she was an extrovert, she basically adopted me and let me just chill with her.

"Interesting name...very... exotic..." The man rambled, as he went through the thick clipboard, "Let me see...Yablonsky, Yablonsky..." I wouldn't have suspected that the Count would've invited so many people. In my understanding, it was a somewhat exclusive gathering or whatnot, since Mother kindly reminded me that she had to 'call in many favors to get us inside', "Here, found it." How many people in this country have surnames starting with 'Y'? "Now, the invitations, please?"

Shit. I had to think about a way to get us inside without that fucking paper. Olga wasn't going to exactly kill me if we weren't able to get in because of my stupidity, but she would be very upset- and that would be worse than everything. I mean, I wouldn't give a flying fuck about being barred on the entrance, but Olga? She groomed herself and me up just for this.

I glanced nervously at my sister, then at the man, "Our names are already on the list, why do you need that silly piece of paper?"

"Because that way I know you are really Olga and Maria and not some intruders."

"Are there so many clever intruders that will memorize a name such as 'Yablonsky' just to enter a masquerade ball?"

Olga poked my ribs with her elbow, "Come on Masha, don't be stupid, just give him the invitation."

"Yeah...about that...I forgot it at home, remember?"

"Part of me wished you were joking when you told me that.." Olga said, then sighed sadly, "But I guess you were not."

It was always a stab to the heart to see my dear sister sad. I'm normally a thick skinned person, but I get touchy when the subject is my family, and if it makes me weaker to say it, I don't care: I miss them terribly, "I'm sorry,"

"It's alright."

I just had to do something regarding my lack of memory, and I tried- the way I was taught by Mistress Alicia Yablonsky herself.

I cleared my throat, "Can't you let us pass? Just this time?" I took a step closer to the man, and battered my eyelashes, "My sister had this dress made just for this occasion and she has to enter the ballroom now so that the girls who have similar outfits, seeying that my dearest sister is already there, will feel ashamed and run back home to change! Surely you understand my concerns!"

I felt significantly dumber after having said that.

"I'm afraid not. If I let you pass I'll have to let everyone else as well- you have no idea how many intruders I had to 'kindly ask to leave' this evening." Apparently my tricks were not helping at that time. Uhhh if I had just paid more attention to Mother when she did those things...

Olga tilted her head slightly, as if she was thinking, a curious expression graced her features.

"That is just outrageous! My father will hear about this!" Remember kids, always play the 'my father will hear about this' card. Works almost all the time. And that time wasn't one of those.

"As much as I'd like to let you both in, I have been given orders by Count Saez himself, and I really need this job."

"Ridiculous-!" My performance was getting a bit over the edge when I put my hands in my hips, therefore Olga interrupted me.

"Маша! Стой! **[Masha! Stop!]** " She said, in Russian. The Russian language was basically the family's secret code, because it would've been quite embarrassing to call each other's attention in Spanish for everyone to hear and judge. One thing though, Olga was never all that good, always messing Genitive and Dative cases...tsk tsk. One of the few things I did better than her.

I turned to her, mildly offended, "Почему? **[Why?]** " I was puzzled, didn't she want to get inside? I was just helping! I for myself couldn't care less about that shit party but I was making an effort for her! Everyone knew I would've rather been left at home with my games than have to see people and dress up for something stupid, "Я стараюсь изо всех сил, потому я думала, ты хотела этого! **[I'm trying my best because I thought you wanted this!]** "

Olga calmly replied to my frustrated dialog, "Я не хочу. А не как этого. **[I don't want it. Not like this.]** " Then she added, much to my frustration, "Так пусть бедный человек! **[So leave the poor man be!]** "

I grunted, "Окей. **[Okay.]** " I was the wounded party at that occasion. I try to stand up to family because I knew it was important to her and that was what I got. Being selfish is good for your health sometimes. Lavellan should get some classes on being selfish because that bitch would give her soul if it meant saving a random stranger.

Someone not so gently touched my shoulder, "I'm sorry to interrupt your little exorcism but some important people have a party to attend."

Well, excuuuuuuuuse me, princess!

I turned to find a fat old woman with her wrinkles masked by a shit ton of plastic surgeries and heavy make up. Her eyes looked like they never winked, and her lips were curled into a perpetual smile- even though everyone knew she was quite far from smiling at that occasion.

Look at this woman and tell me there's a God.

The woman had a black mask with feathers on the border (it was r-i-d-i-c-u-l-o-u-s) and she wore a tight yellow and black dress which made her look like a mustard container. Even her fat rolls gave character to the mustard look. Or if you want to be fancy she could have been cosplaying Barry B. Benson from Bee Movie.

According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway because bees don't care what humans think is impossible. Yellow, black. Yellow, black...

Yellow is not a good color. It's in fact the worst color. Gives me a headache.

But I digress.

Beside her was a thin man I presumed to be her husband. He had a white neatly combed mustache and he wore a suit with a matching yellow tie. Behind them, quite a flock of people had already gathered.

I cringed internally.

And also externally. I still have to work on that, "I honestly can't see any important people here. Can you?"

I'm much better now. Before...everything... I used to say shit like that whenever I was in a situation I didn't like, and boy let me tell you there were a lot of those.

"Excuse me!?" The woman exclaimed. Of course that wasn't a question but in fact a threat like 'back off now before my fat rolls drag you to Hell along with me'. "I will not tolerate being treated like this, young lady!" She then turned to Olga, who she figured was responsible for me, "Please reprehend her."

Alright I won't say I wasn't being a brat that time, because I was. I might not have thought so before but now that I'm older and more mature (hopefully) I can po/nder about my actions. I was quite the baby back then- just because Olga didn't want my help to get inside the ball and the guy with the list was being a bitch ass fuckboy. Maybe I was the whiny bitch. A whiny childish bitch- I can see that now.

"Forgive my sister, she has...a condition." Olga nodded, visibly ashamed at my existence, even so to explicitly lie, "Со мной. Сейчас. **[With me. Now.]** " She grunted, taking me by the arm away from all the commotion and into a quiet corner of the vestibule, where there was a little sofa. "What the fuck were you thinking when you spoke to a Countess that way?"

Whenever Olga cursed, I knew that shit had gone sour.

"How do you know that woman who looked like the reason why God abandoned us was a countess?"

"It doesn't matter," She continued, still holding my arm tightly- to the point it hurt, "Clearly you weren't thinking. One of your smart comments might just get you into a lot of trouble someday.

It was truly a blessing not to be able to speak the Common Tongue, the amounts of times I verbally assaulted people were enough to get me thrown into the dungeons and be tried by the Inquisitor. Not that it didn't happen, but you know.

At least I never ended up like an end table for orphans like a certain crate did, but instead I ended up as Lavellan's apprentice.

"But you saw the way she spoke to us! You couldn't expect me to just sit idly by!" I said, thrashing into her hold.

"Ugh, Maria! You are impossible!"

I know. I know. And I am not proud of myself when I was younger. Not that much has changed from then, but I like to think my NPC character arch improved me.

"Let's not forget I was trying to get ourselves inside this shit party just for you. Just because I love you."

"I know...I just... I want you to try to control your temper, alright? For mine and Mother's sakes."

"You're involving her in this?"

"Of course. She knows this lot and her reputation is what's at stake here."

"That's just fantastic." I rolled my eyes. Now Olga was trying to justify all the crap I had to go through to please that woman and now me being nice and lady-like to a bunch of random rich people would add to Mother's prestige with this lot. I couldn't care less if Alicia's prestige and reputation were damaged by me being the thing she wanted me not to be: me, "So you want me to behave like a pretty princess, without any comebacks? Like you?"

"It's not like it would kill you to be a little nicer."

"But I am nice." I said, with all the seriousness of the world, even if it was obvious I was lying.

"You always say 'the forces of evil don't have time to be nice', so I have my doubts." She commented, "Now, practice being nice for the meantime while I go back home and get those invitations, alright?" She chuckled lightly. One thing I loved about Olga was the fact that she could never get mad at me for long- as much as she tried to. Mother, however, would get mad at me and only stop if I apologized, even if she was wrong, "Promise me you won't do or say anything that you'll regret later."

So my dearest sister was going to be the one to go back home to get the papers. Can't say I was not relieved because I'd rather not have been the one to drive all the way back home. Not to mention I had gotten my driver's license recently, so driving in a dangerous mountain road at night wasn't the best idea to try my luck, "Alright. Be quick with that invitation though. And don't do anything illegal. Or drive above the permitted speed.."

"Don't worry about it, конфетка **[sweetie]**." Olga smiled, gently letting go of my arm, "Don't you dare going in without me!"

"You can be certain I won't." I shrugged.

Well, that was quick. I thought to myself.

And just like that Olenka left the room, towards the big marble stairway. The tap-taps of her heels could be heard long after she was gone.

I inhaled deeply and sat on the sofa. It was made of a very comfy material, I have to admit. I stayed like that for a while, seating down, watching people come and go as I occasionally checked my phone in hopes of new texts but as I was a lonely bitch no one actually texted me. There were other people in the vestibule- probably not because they had forgotten the invitation- but because they were having a good time talking in little groups. Sure, it was beautiful and it could be agreeable with the right company. However I was alone and I didn't know anyone in the place. Plus everyone wore a mask which made them look silly. Not that I didn't look silly with my mask on, though.

I kept my ears alert to any nice rich people gossip, like the fact that rich woman #1 has had plastic surgery and had not told her 3rd husband about it yet. Or that rich man #2 had just fathered a bastard. Ah, so much chaos could be unleashed here. That palace was a whole new world full of deceit and trickery. I am sure my mother would've brought a notebook along just to record all the gossip.

But I was not Alicia, and by not being her I had other concerns like the fact that no waiter came by to offer me a drink of any type of food- making me impatient and hungry. Where was all the food and why I was being excluded from the service?

I then had the brilliant idea to look for something edible while I waited for Olga to come back with our tickets to this torture chamber, so I went on exploring the vestibule because unfortunately no food would magically come to me while I sat down in the fancy white sofa.

I got up and casually walked around the people and bookshelves, looking for something that might hint to have been a kitchen. My experiences with palaces/mansions was extremely limited, so I had no idea where there could have been a pantry or kitchen. At some point I decided it would be a good idea to follow the palace workers.

I found myself in some sort of music room after a while of aimlessly strolling around and avoiding people. It was a small room (compared to the rest) and unlike anything I had seen in the mansion so far for it had wooden flooring instead of white marble and instead of blue marble columns all around there was simple wooden planks painted in a sweet baby blue. There was also a window from which I could see many miles of forests.

I concluded that room was not reformed, but just preserved, due to its simple decorations that looked like they were pulled straight from the movie 'Pride and Prejudice' although the furnishings were just as fancy as in the other rooms that were ripped off 2012's Hollywood adaptation of Anna Karenina. There were many bookshelves and other sofa-things adorned with wooden carvings as all the other rooms also had, as well as a pretty fireplace, but this one had a grand black piano standing close to the window.

I loved pianos. I couldn't play for the life of me but I had this thing for them. They were so beautiful and aesthetic and the music they could make when played by a skilled person...ahhh...

I decided I wanted to check it out, you know, just for the fun. I looked around to see if anyone else was in the room, and when I confirmed I was indeed alone, I carefully made my way to the musical instrument.

I sat in the little stool by the piano and just ran my fingers through the smooth black and white keys. I looked up at the door from where I had come from and noticing I was still alone, I pressed a key, making a sound that echoed.

I played with some other keys until something else had drawn my attention. Close to a bookshelf, there was a small elegant trash can (see kids, even a trash can be elegant and fancy- it's called trash can not trash cannot) I hadn't noticed before, and for some reason something inside made a weird screeching noise, and glowed in a faint red light.

"What the hell?" I squinted my eyes a bit- I could not rub them like I would've done because it would ruin my make-up. "I'm not high...yet..."

Just kidding. The only high I need is the natural adrenaline of committing murder.

That was a joke, guys. Just clearing that out.

The thing inside instantly made me curious. I don't know what made me go to the trash can and stick my little fingers inside it. Considering my ill luck, it could have been something nasty (well, the thing I found wasn't exactly harmless either way). I like to think there was more going on than me simply being drawn to something shiny like moths in to a lamp in summer. Let's face it, thinking that a magical ring called out for you is much neater than what happened in reality.

Oh, about that ring. There are many things to discuss regarding that topic, but we'll get to that soon enough.

I thought about it for a second: was really the mighty, amazingly funny and smart Maria Yablonsky really going to check out a trash can that glowed? It could have been anything, a laser beam to catch thieves, a red lightsaber, Karl Marx's Communist Manifesto or anything really and I was only going on a bad LSD trip. Curiosity got the best of me that time.

It was like that saying: 'Curiosity killed the cat.'

But people forget the saying is not complete, it's really 'Curiosity killed the cat but satisfaction brought it back'.

In my case it was 'Curiosity almost killed Maria a couple of times and made her bound to an ancient magical artifact but she had been dead inside for years so it never really mattered.'

I walked to the trash can and looked down at it. There were paper balls inside, as well as a wooden book and a glass of wine. The faint red light was still there, and whatever had been making it, was behind the random shit inside.

"I can't believe I'm looking through a trash can just because the red light was pretty." I said to myself. I looked around to make sure there was no one there, went on my knees and started digging.

That moment was arguably one of the most embarrassing in my recent history.

Narrator: oh boy that one wasn't nearly as embarrassing as some other shit Maria did not too much later.

My fingers touched something weird bellow the random crap. My amazing tact abilities were able to identify that the mystery object was in fact a ring. I pulled it out and examined it carefully. The weird red light went off as soon as I touched it.

It was a smooth ring made out of gold (or some pretty good gold imitation), just like the one in Lord of the Rings, except that one was plain with no engravings (I never had the idea to toss it into the fire before putting it on and once I did...well I'll not spoil the story) in Sauron's language and it was so small it could only fit my pinky finger.

I wondered why such a ring was in the trash and why it glowed red before I touched it. What was it doing there? Were rich people that absurd as to toss away a perfectly good and seemingly expensive ring out?

Those questions were left unanswered, for good or ill. Considering what I later discovered about its nature, it was a good thing that I never found out.

"Hum," I tilted my head slightly, twirling the ring between my fingers, "One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them. One ring to bring them all and in the darkness bind them."

Yes , I recited the poem about the One Ring from Lord of the Rings. Yes, I am a pretty big nerd.

I pondered if I should try the ring on. It would look cute, of course, but should I really be trying on rings I found on the trash? That hasn't prevented me from doing embarrassing shit, so what's stopping me?

What could possibly go wrong?

Narrator: many things did in fact go wrong. Clearly Maria wasn't paying attention when she read The Lord of the Rings.

I put the golden object in my pinky finger (with some difficulty, and an unpleasant feeling of pinching the sides of it) in my left hand and observed how it looked. The ring looked cute indeed. As I admired my pretty hand, I noticed something weird: after a sharp stinging sensation, there was a little stream of a gooey red liquid also known as blood, streaming down my hand- from the ring. "Shit!"

I instantly panicked.

I tried to remove the ring from my finger, but it was stuck! As if by magic!

Bah- BAM that shit was indeed magic. Didn't see that plot-twist coming.

The thing was almost as if it was fused into my flesh, it wouldn't even move other way than turning in an axis around my finger! Not even with the blood- my blood, I assumed- making it more slippery. I shook my hand, tried to remove the ring with my teeth, my nails, anything, but it wouldn't move.

"Maria you dumbass," I cursed myself for being so stupid. "I guess I just got myself a new ring," I banged my head into the nearby bookshelf, instantly regretting it, "And if the Count wants it back he will have to cut my finger off for all I care."

Speaking of cutting off my finger, I had to clean up the blood because it would be awkward to show up with a bleeding hand. Nobody needed me to seem like a murderer, and from previous experiences in several games, balls are excellent places for an assassin to hide and kill people and that wouldn't be a nice first impression. Not that I was concerned about maintaining my mother's reputation or anything of the sort. I could destroy the reputation she built over the years in a matter of seconds and I wouldn't give a flying fuck.

However, the smell of blood did make my nose itch, so- please, anyone reading, this is the part where you don't judge me or my questionable life choices- I put my pinky finger inside my mouth to suck up the red liquid. It tasted weirdly metallic, of course, not that I expected it to taste like caramel syrup.

It would've been nice, though, if blood tasted like caramel syrup.

I had to suck it for a while, periodically taking the finger off my mouth to check if the bleeding had stopped, and it took some time to stop, "I didn't know I had that much blood inside such a small finger. The more you know."

Indeed, Maria. The more you know.

"Come on, Masha. You just got a free ring, cheer up!" Getting up on my feet once again, I figured I had better return to the vestibule- that antechamber where I could listen to all sorts of interesting conversation, before Olga showed up with the invitation, "I should show my new ring off to Olenka." Maybe the waiters would figure me as much as of a guest as the average lady and finally offer me some food and/or dubious alcoholic beverage.

I hope they have wild-berry liquour.

I left the piano room and made my way to the vestibule, toying with my new ring. While I was gone, nothing exciting seemed to have happened, only more silly looking masked guests had arrived and gathered themselves in every corner of the vestibule.

But no signs of Olga, unfortunately.

I sighed as I sat on the sofa I had previously been sitting on, in the exact same spot, and just listened in for gossip, while fiddling with the ends of my hair. My left hand- where the ring was- still smelled quite metallic, and it turned my stomach sour for a bit.

While waiting for my sister, I noticed very neat things, especially gossip and trivia about this palace. One of the men commented, "Saez really outdid himself in the reforms,"

A woman nearby replied, "Yes indeed. I've also been told that the workers found all sorts of interesting things here while working on renewing the palace. I wonder if he kept the relics found."

"Probably." It was not entirely uncommon for people to find relics inside old houses, so I was not surprised some loot had been hidden inside the mansion, considering its age.

I truly didn't belong in that place full of rich bitches and fuckboys. The people were...too much for my simple 19 year-old self to understand. Plus, I suspected there was all sorts of scheming and backstabbing in that place as much as in other upper class circles I sometimes had to attend with Mama. Not that I wasn't a little fake ass little bitch sometimes- because I can be fake and shallow if I want- but... I don't know. If I had at least wanted to come I wouldn't be so bored.

Some minutes passed- I don't know how many exactly, for one forgets about the flow of time entirely when playing outdated mobile games with in-game purchases such as Candy Crush- and still no one had offered me a drink yet, which made me kind of mad.

Were those assholes denying me service just because I could have been an uninvited guest? That is some prejudice right there. I have rights, you know.

I heard a commotion in the direction of the stairs, seeming like a small crowd of people climbing the flight of stairs to the vestibule.

I didn't give two shits about that and mentally shrugged, coming back to my game, which was much more interesting at that point, because for some reason all the guests that had been arriving in the last few minutes were all French, and I couldn't understand everything they saying (as much as Spanish and French came from the same Latin roots, we can only understand a few words).

The crowd of people were close to me now, and they were kind of loud. And seemed like a bunch of weird fangirls fangirling over some famous guy. I wouldn't be surprised if the Count had invited famous people just for the LoLs.

My attention was called when someone from that crowd called out my mother's maiden name- in German- in a strange accent, which gave in that the man was not a native German speaker, "Alicia? Alicia Velasquéz? Bist du das? **[Alicia? Alicia Velasquéz? Is that you?]** "

It took me a while to figure the person who called my mother's maiden name was talking to me- mistaking me for her. I mean, how many Alicias Velasquéz were there?

I cringed a bit.

It is painful to think about how much still I look like my mother. Literally a copy of her facial features. Same raven black hair, same grey eyes, same urge to kill people periodically. Everything was the same except my freckles, which she didn't have. We were basically the same person 30 years apart. Olga was the lucky one to take more of Papa in appearance.

But of course, the first thing people who knew my mother from her mysterious days in her own version of 'Around the World in Eighty Days', which was before she turned into what she was now, mention how clever and beautiful she was in her 20s. And I look like her...therefore, I must be pretty as well.

As you might have already noticed, I have two major moods:

1- 'Holy fucking shit I 'm ugly as fuck and I look like the lovechild of a camel and a wombat'

And,

2- 'I'm a perfect goddess don't touch me peasant'

Enough about that. Talking about me surely is fine and all but we didn't even get to the part when the story gets good- and by good I mean weird and terrifying.

I looked up from my game, just to see a little crowd of women, with different colored dresses and masks, surrounding a blond man with vibrant blue eyes who wore an elegant black suit and a black mask. He looked kinda old, but was still handsome.

Beside him there was a younger, dark haired (his hair was in a ponytail) overweight man, roughly my age, who wore a golden tuxedo (I hate fashion and shit like that but even I cringed at that tuxedo) underneath a black trench coat, a green mask, a wonderful dark neckbeard that would make any girl swoon and- wait for it- A..

God left the match.

I almost spit my invisible drink on the young man. He gave me a nervous smile.

That man was the perfect example of a greasy anime fanboy. Why? Why? Why do I always need to interact with the weirdos?

That young man was a perfect example of a ''neckbeard weeaboo'. Often smelling of cheetos, Mountain Dew, and depression, the average neckbeard can be found playing World of Warcraft in their mother's basement. Those men's interests include My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, katanas, anime in general, underage anime girls, body pillows and the idea of having a girlfriend to worship.

They will also refer to others as sir/madam/m'lady/sire/miss/overly formal honorifics in occasions that don't require this level of formality just because it reminds them of Japanese society. But I still didn't know if the boy was in fact one if those types.

I wondered why there were so many women following those two but I thought that it was just a coincidence. Actually I didn't really care.

I presumed the older blond man was the one who had called for my mother, "Wait, what?" I said, involuntarily, in Spanish, even though I was perfectly able to reply in German. Deutsch wasn't my best language but I was pretty decent at it, modesty apart.

"Ich sehe, die Jahre haben euch viel freigelassen als für mich. Es ist fast so, als hättest du überhaupt nicht gealtert. **[I see the years have been far kinder to you than they have for me. It is as if you haven't aged at all.]** " The man ignored the women around him, locking his blue eyes with my grey ones, taking a step closer. I could see in his eyes that he genuinely believed I was my mother, "Du musst dich an mich erinnern, ja? Zuletzt haben wir uns schon vor langer Zeit gesehen - oder war es? Ugh, ich verachte das Gefühl, alt zu sein. **[** **You must remember me, yes? Last we've seen each other was not that long ago- or was it? Ugh, I despise feeling old.]** "

It took me some seconds to actually assimilate what he had said. That was some advanced German right there. I grasped some of what had been said, like something about me remembering him. I wouldn't remember someone I never met.

While the blond man stared at me because he thought I was my mother, the younger fedora man stared at me creepily because I looked cute as fuck.

I raised an eyebrow and brought myself not to be rude with people who had nothing to do with me being alone in a party I didn't want to attend and the fact that my hand was bleeding and I gave in to my vampire instincts and sucked all the blood. I wouldn't have thought twice about being rude to the fedora guy because that type of man doesn't deserve my respect. "Es tut mir leid, aber du irrst dich. Ich bin nicht Alicia, aber in Wirklichkeit ihre jüngste Tochter. **[** **I'm sorry, but you are mistaken. I'm not Alicia, but in fact her youngest daughter.]**

"Das ist so schade. Diese Versammlung scheint nur so etwas zu sein. **[** **That is such a pity. This gathering seems just the sort of thing she would attend.]** " The blond man chuckled lightly, as remembering fond memories. I wondered from where that guy knew my mother and why did he have apparently fond memories with her. For what I knew, my mother wasn't very pleasant with people. "Sie genießt immer noch die hintertriebenen Nervenkitzel der High Society, nehme ich an? **[** **She still enjoys the backstabbing thrills of high society, I suppose?]** " The blond man continued talking and the fedora guy and the women just stared at me.

I stopped listening after a while (too much German), and thought I should get straight to the point, "Wer bist du? **[Who are you?]** "

I didn't give a fuck if I should have used the 'Sie' form, which is the formal 'you' in German, and it is supposed to be used when talking to older, unknown people. But of course I have a thing with not following orders, might those be simply using a different treatment pronoun or being instructed not to try to out-sass evil demons who might offer you an unique chance to sleep with a certain blond Commander. Needless to say, my dealings with demons have been...entertaining, to say the least.

"Ich bin überrascht, dass deine Mutter dir nichts von mir erzählt hat **[I'm surprised that your mother hasn't told you about me, considering all the times we spend together]** " Blondie commented. I thought that the man had to suffer from a severe delay because how the fuck would I know if my mother had mentioned him if he didn't even tell me his name and I had never seen him in my life before. Not that my mother ever told me anything from her more exciting lifestyle in the 80s- not that I cared enough to ask,"Na ja, mein Name ist Vijio Tähtinen und das ist mein Sohn, Matias. **[Well, at any rate, my name is Vijio Tähtinen and this is my son, Matias.]** "

Tähtinen? That name I remembered instantly.

Yes, my mother was a pain in the ass most of the time and she never told me anything about her past before turning into a glorified cook. I tried to think she was just making her connections around the world who might some day grant her daughters invitations to a Count's ball, climbing in the social ladder, the occasional backstabbing and whatnot, other than doing something illegal. I mean, we were never close, but she could have told me something. One of the few things she ever mentioned was a man with the name 'Tähtinen' fairly often.

You see, what I knew about her past was only the fact that she had lived in multiple countries in the 80s, and she spent at least 5 years in Finland, where she met Father, and this other Blondie, apparently. The name Tähtinen showed up on occasion, whenever a Father spoke in Russian to me or Olga, Mother would go 'I'm calling Tähtinen to chat because this is all Finnish to me!'. I didn't know what that was supposed to mean but it managed to make Father flip every time. I also recall - not her, but rather my father- mentioning he was a singer, and a very talented one.

Fedora man tipped his hat at me, "Es ist ein Vergnügen, m'lady. **[It is a pleasure, m'lady.]** " he added the 'm'lady' in English, which made me cringe even more.

I tried to avoid eye contact with fedora guy, turning then to his father, "Tähtinen? Der finnische Sängerin? Mutter sprach über dich! **[Vijio? The Finnish singer? Mother talked about you!]** "

The blond Finnish chuckled lightly, a certain sparkle found its way to his baby blue eyes, "Nur gute Dinge, ich hoffe? **[Only good things, I hope?]** " I wondered how close he had been with my mother to have that weird sparkle thing. Maybe they had dated? I didn't care, actually, since I believed that romantic love was just a concept created by Modern Capitalism to entice people to buy useless shit, "Kann ich deinen Namen fragen?" **[Might I ask your name?]**

"Ich heiße Maria, ganz normal. **[I'm called Maria, very standard]** "

You know, I never really got to learn about my mother's true backstory, not that I wanted to, so let's play a game: I'll let the people reading make up a story about her past, filling in the blanks to answer questions like why was she in Finland in the 80s and how does she know so many people that could get her two daughters inside a ball. My story is that Alicia was a secret agent working for the Spanish branch of the CIA and she was investigating aliens in the frozen Finnish wastelands. That sounds way more exciting than the truth, I'm sure.

The man smiled, then looked at a cute golden hand watch he pulled out from his suit, "Es war eine Freude, mit dir zu reden, Maria, aber wir müssen gehen. **[It was a delight speaking with you, Maria, but we have to get going.]** " He told me, as the women around him scattered about. I figured he wouldn't want to spend the entire party chatting with Alicia's least memorable daughter, "Kommst du nicht? **[Aren't you coming?]** "

"Ich warte darauf, dass meine Schwester ankommt. Wir werden in Kürze gehen. **[I'm waiting for my sister to arrive. We will be going shortly.]** " At that point, my tongue couldn't take any more German, for it was twisting and turning in every word I spoke.

"Bitte stellst du uns vor, wenn du die Chance habst, und Ich hoffe, dass wir heute Abend noch mehr kennen lernen können. **[Please introduce us when you have the chance, and I hope we can become more acquainted later this evening].** " Vijio bowed his head respectfully at me, "Bitte, rette einen Tanz für meinen Sohn, er muss wirklich einmal mit echten Leben Frauen reden. **[Please, do save a dance for my son, he really needs to spend time with real life women for once.]** "

I wasn't aware I was living inside a Jane Austen novel (before the whole freak show with the mirror and the events that went on after that, mainly the two times I went to the Winter Palace) where people are asked to 'save a dance' for someone else. It was a weird concept for me, to dance with strangers just because they had asked me to. Of course, that changed because the strangers with whom I had danced in the Winter Palace were not nearly as weird and greasy as fedora guy.

Speaking of Jane Austen, I thought I was a nice character from one of her stories such as Pride and Prejudice, I thought I was like Jane or Elizabeth, but now I acknowledge that I am in fact one of the bitches like Lady Catherine. Go figure.

I smiled falsely, in hopes that Finnish guy and fedora man would leave me alone, because I was already tired of social interactions, "Natürlich. **[Of course]** "

Narrator: given Maria's obvious disgust towards people in general and especially men in fedoras, we can guess she was lying.

See? That was what I was talking about. I didn't even think about being a fake ass bitch but it just came naturally.

"Froh das zu hören. **[Glad to hear it.]** " Mr. Tähtinen smiled back, then added, "Nun, wenn Sie uns entschuldigen würden. **[Now, if you would excuse us.** **]** "

Even though I was hella tired of interacting with people (in German and any other languages as well) I was glad that Mr. Tähtinen, as close as he had been with my mother, didn't hold grudges and didn't have any kind of infatuation with me just because I look like her. I was very glad he didn't have the 'Littlefinger complex', because that would have been very awkward.

Anyway, after bidding me farewell, Vijio respectfully took his leave towards the entrance to the ballroom, but his son still stood there casually, glancing at me with a creepy smile.

I tried hard to ignore the guy and not tell him to fuck off, until my salvation came in the form of his father calling fedora guy out, urging him to get the fuck away from me because even Vijio could see his son was creeping me out, "Matias!"

Fedora guy looked at his father, nodded, and turned back to me, "M'lady," And he then tipped his fedora once more before turning on his heel for joining his father and the bunch of women from before.

I felt physical pain at that.

No, really.

The ring stung my pinky finger and I hissed involuntarily. Not only I hissed, but fedora guy also, for some odd reason.. I have a theory on why that happened, but I won't spoil my fun story with my crappy theories. They will show up eventually, though.

With my mother's awkward past figure and his fedora son out of the way, I could resume what I was doing before all that, which was of course, nothing useful. Playing Candy Crush is useful to expand the greedy claws of modern capitalism, so I was doing something to help that 10% of the world's population that held 90% of all the riches and were probably lizards.

It took a painful while for Olga to come back with the invitations. During this time, three other people from my mother's mystery past mistook me for her (which rendered awkward conversations I'd rather not repeat), a drunk woman tried to persuade me to marry her son and a waiter almost let expensive champagne fall on top of my head, and even though he apologized, he didn't even offer me a glass of it afterwards.

I had heard the tap-taps of Olga's shoes climbing up the stairs in a hurry, and I turned to find my older sister searching for me, and when she found me, quickly made her way.

As you might have guessed, seeing the mass of familiar red hair coming towards me, made me relieved that even if people wanted to talk to me, I'd let my big sister handle it. Olga skipped all the way, waving the invitations as she smiled brightly, as surprisingly as it was for her to even walk in such high heels.

I smiled, "Took your sweet time to arrive, eh?"

"What matters is that I'm here now." She replied, handing the two elegant salmon colored papers to me, "And so are the invitations~"

"You won't ever guess what figure from Mama's mysterious past just mistook me for her because I'm pretty as hell."

"Tell me!"

"You're no fun! Come on, you have to guess!"

"Alright...uhhh, the king of Spain?"

"What? No." I then proceeded to tell my sister about the events with Vijio and Fedora Guy, how he had mistook me for Alicia and how I was asked to save a dance for Fedora man because he needed to socialize with real women. I may have neglected telling Olga about my new golden ring, but her keen eye for jewelry noticed it right away. 'Nice ring you've got there!~' she said, not asking further questions on how I came to have it, which was a relief because it would be embarrassing as fuck to explain I found it inside a trash can.

After that, Olenka and I both made our way to the guy by the door to the ballroom (not before I hid my phone inside my bra), "Guess what we have here?" I said, as I waved the invitation in front of that fuckboy's face.. Rude? Perhaps. Satisfying? You bet.

The man sighed, defeated, "My paycheck? It's too late."

"No, we have the invitations with our pretty names on them! The Yablonsky sisters are in!" Olga added, happily. At least, even if the party was utter shit I would at least see my sister happy. I lived for her happiness. She was just too pure, too good for this world. Heck, even I didn't deserve Olenka as my sister. Me leaving for good must have hurt her as much as it did me, if not more.

When I say I took her for granted I mean it, "Yay, I guess?" I sounded like someone who had just been invited to a fucking funeral.

The young man took both our invitations and examined them for a bit, "Alright, everything appears to be in order...enjoy the evening." He said, then proceeded to open the big doors that led to the ballroom.

"This is so great!" Olga was absolutely ecstatic. Her pretty green eyes sparkled, and she irradiated a wave of happiness, "Come, Masha, let's go!" She locked her arm with mine and together we passed through the door to the ballroom.

The ballroom was mesmerizing. Unlike anything I had seen before.

We were in the central quadrangle of the palace, and the first thing I noticed was the ceiling. It was made out of fine glass, making it possible to see everything outside- the moon, the stars, the occasional North Korean projectile- and there was this huge lit chandelier, making everything glow in a faint golden light to match the colors of the palace.

The room had two floors, the upper one had people all around chatting, a small orchestra playing classical music, and waiters running around with plates. The walls were faint gold and the trend of blue marble columns and white plaster was present there as well. Also, I could notice a couple of opened doors that led to other salons.

There were two small flights of stairs in the north and south parts of the first floor, leading to the second floor, where there were food, drink, and a big space for dancing. Many people were already dancing, and the sounds of high heels stepping on marble mixed in with the rhythm of classical music made my heart soar.

Unexpectedly, Olga let go of my arm and extended her hand to me, "Fair maiden, would you grace me with a dance?"

I laughed, taking her hand into my freckled ones (did I mention I have freckles all over my body? I've been informed there are a couple of interesting looking ones in my back), "Before or after I get too drunk to walk and the alcoholic beverages finally give me the feeling of numbness to ease my pain of being alive?"

"Please don't start with nihilism." Olga facepalmed, "It's too early for that."


End file.
